My Dark Prince
by Bizzy247
Summary: An alternate relationship fic based on 'the Darkness Within' by Kurionne. Harry is raised by Voldemort and thinks James and Lily were horribly abusive. At 16, as Voldemort's prime assassin, his only friend is Draco, until Draco becomes more than a friend.
1. My Dark Prince

**A/N: This story is an alternate relationship fic based on** _ **the Darkness Within**_ **by Kurionne** **. If you haven't read that one, this won't make much sense.**

 **WARNING: This story contains slash.**

 **Background: Baby Harry is kidnapped by Pettigrew and raised by Voldemort as his son. Trained extensively and kept mostly a secret, at 16 Harry is Voldemort's prime assassin. Most Death Eaters only know of rumors that there is a special person living at Riddle Manor. Harry must wear a mask in "public" to keep his identity secret, even from other Death Eaters. Only Lucius and Bella have actually met him, and they helped raise and train him. Draco joined in some of Harry's lessons pre-Hogwarts and still visits on holidays, though Voldemort does not at all approve of the egalitarian nature of their relationship and is openly hostile to Draco.**

* * *

Draco frowned around the dim interior of the Hog's Head. He wasn't surprised when the barkeep whispered instructions as he passed over a butterbeer.

"Upstairs, third on the right. No charge."

The man seemed shaken. Father sometimes had that effect, but it made Draco step even lighter.

He found the room easily but hesitated a moment before opening the door. Father had never wanted to see him on Hogsmeade weekends before and this level of subterfuge was unusual.

Finally, he plastered a confident, pleasant expression on his face and pushed open the door. After a glance inside he froze barely a foot into the room.

Lounging with nonchalant, deadly grace against a small table on the opposite wall was the last person Draco expected to see. The room was small, tiny, and the leather clad youth filled the space with his presence, to the point it seemed there wasn't room for air.

Draco nearly laughed and asked what he was doing here, but the sight of the dagger held casually in the youth's hand spoke of a possibility Draco had never thought to face, but had always feared. Quietly, meekly, Draco stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Prince," he said respectfully, keeping his eyes well below those of the other youth.

From his peripheral vision, Draco saw the dark green eyes turn to look at him, then glance away again. Not a good sign!

"Draco," the prince said flatly. He flipped the dagger in his hand, caught it, and frowned at it.

Draco's eyes darted around the room, though he knew the only exit was the door behind him or the window past the Prince. He would never make it out of either of them. Hell, no one made it anywhere when the Prince came for them. Though, to be honest, Draco wasn't entirely sure he could make himself run anyway.

 _Don't be stupid. This is Harry! He would never… wouldn't he? If the Dark Lord told him to? —shut up! I can't believe that! I won't!_

"How can I be of service?" he asked, with every ounce of politeness he had.

The prince flipped the dagger again then slipped it into a sheath faster than an eye blink. He hunched into himself and frowned out the window, then stood with sinuous grace and turned to face Draco, dripping with confidence and authority.

"I have to know what it meant."

Draco frowned. His eyes flicked up to lock with the green ones but he immediately looked away. "What 'what' meant? Er, Prince?" It seemed unnatural to be addressing Harry so formally, but then, Draco had several years of observation of protocol, and until he knew for sure whether Harry was here of his own accord or on the Dark Lord's order he would play it as safe as possible.

To his everlasting shock a soft touch, a caress brushed the back of his hand, thumb sliding over the knuckles. He started and actually jumped sideways away from his friend.

"That," the prince said casually. "Last month, when you were at the Manor. We were reading…"

…on the couch in Harry's suite. Draco had been doing homework; Harry had been reading some ancient tome on using transfiguration in the Dark Arts. Then the prince had fallen asleep. Draco had found himself staring at Harry, loving the unruly black hair, tan skin, thick lashes, and admiring the toned physique. After months of denial, of hiding, he allowed himself to at least enjoy looking.

And then he had gently pulled the book from Harry's hand, without thinking, without even realizing he was doing it. Still looking at the book, thinking how brilliant Harry was, he hadn't noticed his other hand was still settled over Harry's tan one, thoughtlessly caressing the knuckles with his thumb…until Harry's hand twitched and he glanced back to find those beautiful green eyes looking at him.

He'd immediately removed his hand and started babbling about putting Harry's book away, or checking some transfiguration answers, or something, and they'd moved on. He'd told himself he was imagining a new… something in Harry's expression, both that night and in the other few times he'd visited over the last two weeks of summer.

Apparently he hadn't imagined it.

Merlin Immortal! If the Dark Lord ever even suspected! He already hated Draco. If he thought Draco was…that he even imagined…

Draco wished with everything he had that he could take the moment back, that Harry—the Dark Prince—wasn't here asking him this right now.

"I remember," he nearly choked getting the words out. He desperately wished there were more air the room. He was sure he was shaking, whether with fear that the Dark Lord had sent Harry to kill him, or fear that he hadn't, that Harry was here on his own and was about to end their friendship he wasn't sure.

Still not meeting the Prince's eyes, Draco murmured, "Did the Dark Lord send you?" He had to try twice to say it coherently.

He felt Harry's eyes sweep him up and down, calmly noting how terrified he was. A cat noticing a mouse's trembling. The Prince drew the dagger again but immediately spun away and stabbed in into the top of the desk he'd been leaning against earlier.

"No."

Draco let out a relieved breath and put a hand against the wall to keep from sagging against it.

 _Thank Merlin!_

"I was… I thought…" he couldn't finish that sentence, not out loud.

"You thought he'd sent me to kill you?" Harry asked it casually, but with a weight that Draco appreciated. Not a hint of mockery.

"Someday, I think he will," Draco replied.

Harry merely looked out the window for a moment. "You haven't answered my question."

Draco tugged at his collar and smoothed a hand over his robes, collecting his dignity. But now they were back to _that_ topic. He still couldn't meet Harry's eyes for more than a second. "Technically, you haven't asked one."

A disgruntled sniff was all his reply.

"I don't suppose if I asked you to forget it ever happened…"

"That I would? Only if you tell me it was nothing. But I know that would be a lie." In a single stride Harry was back across the room, inches from Draco's face. Though he wasn't tall he loomed over Draco. "And don't you ever, _ever_ , lie to me, Malfoy. Not. Ever." Every ounce of menace he possessed poured out from him.

This time Draco was too incensed to be afraid. Now that he knew this was Harry, his friend—best friend—and not the Dark Prince, the masked assassin, he let himself fight back.

He glared at Harry, straight in the eye and shoved his way out from between Harry and the wall. "Don't insult me, _your highness_. You know I would never lie to you."

Harry met his gaze calmly. "So what was it?"

Suddenly the room felt far too small and Draco again looked away. "Please don't ask."

"I've already asked. Three times. Last chance, Draco."

 _Last chance._ Last chance to what? To have Harry reject him forever? To have the Dark Lord really order his death instead of just threaten to?

"I…" Draco started, but his throat closed up. He settled with, "or what?"

He felt Harry stiffen. He strode past Draco towards the window. He already had the sash up and a foot on the sill when Draco lunged over and grabbed his wrist.

"No! Please don't leave." The prince stilled, but neither turned nor lowered his foot. "Please, just…I need a minute," Draco pleaded.

Only when Harry slowly brought his foot back to the floor did Draco drop his wrist. It was all going to end! He shook his head to clear it and dropped onto the tiny cot sized bed.

"Thank you."

He heard Harry turn, lounging once again against the table. Even so at ease it felt like sharing the room with a panther. A panther that was also insanely attractive.

"You've never been like this before," Harry said with a faint note of contempt. "Is it so terrible?" The last was said with a subtle note of seduction that Draco firmly decided he was imagining. It still sent shivers up his spine. He buried his head in his hands.

"If your ffff… if the Dark Lord hears, if he even imagined this, he _would_ order you to kill me. He would!"

"I would refuse," Harry said, as if it were that easy!

Draco shook his head. "I want to believe that. No, no, I—I do believe you. But if you did, he'd send someone else. Anyone else would do it. Aunt Bella? She'd gut me like a fish for even thinking…" he drifted off again.

"Just say it, Draco."

Instead Draco stood and turned away to the door. "I'm sorry, Harry. I can't. He would destroy me. My father…I can't." He reached for the door knob but suddenly Harry was there blocking the door.

"Say it, Draco."

Draco stepped back, shaking his head. This couldn't be happening!

"Say it!"

He backed up again, already hitting the table with the dagger still stuck in it. Harry barely stepped towards him but Draco put up a hand to ward him off.

"Please let me leave, Harry."

"Do you love me, Draco?" the voice whispered in his ear and Draco's eyes flew open. Harry was leaning over him, his mouth nearly on Draco's ear. Harry pulled back enough to lock eyes with Draco. Despite himself Draco trembled. _So close! I could—No! I don't dare!_

His control was slipping, and Draco felt himself start to nod, yes, yes he did love—he put up a hand to try and push Harry away and shook his head. "He'll kill me, Harry. If I ever touched you, if he even thought I had, he'd kill me."

"Let me worry about Father." The statement was accompanied by a firm hand gently cupping Draco's chin, pulling him to meet Harry's eyes again. "Draco. Are you in love with me?"

 _Merlin, help me!_ Draco prayed. He felt as if the red eyes were locked onto him right now, seeing the Dark Prince touching him. But staring into those green eyes, Harry's eyes, he could only nod.

"Yes."

 _Yes, Harry, damn you. I love you! Now let me go._

Harry pulled away, slowly. "How long?" His tone was still casual, but Draco knew him well enough to detect the first notes of uncertainty.

Draco took a deep breath, shaking himself. "A year? Not quite, I think. At least, that's when…when I first noticed."

Draco had been waiting in Harry's suite while he showered after a training session. He'd come out in trousers but no shirt. That in itself wasn't anything new, but this time Draco had _noticed._ Particularly, he'd noticed Harry's scars, and for the first time wanted to touch them, to heal them, and to burn the men who'd given them to him. He'd been shocked by his own reaction.

For several long, eternal minutes, Harry stood there in silence. Draco couldn't bear to look at his face. He was too afraid he'd find it full of revulsion, rejection, anger, dismissal. He wasn't sure which would be worse.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore. He looked up, but Harry's face was completely unreadable. He was just watching him. "Gods, please say something, Harry. Anything! Tell me to get lost, or—"

"Kiss me."

Draco blinked. "Wh—what?"

"You heard me." Harry straightened, every inch the Dark Lord's Prince. "Kiss me," he commanded.

Draco shrank in on himself, burying his face in his hands again. "Don't play with me," he pleaded. "Please don't. I'm not—I'm not a toy, Harry." _You would be, if that's what he wanted_ , a voice in his head whispered.

"No, you're not," Harry said, still commanding. "But right now you're being a bloody coward!"

"You don't know what it's like!" Draco burst out. His eyes were wet but he was past caring. "To live in fear? To worry that every time you walk up to those doors could be the time the Dark Lord has ordered them to snatch you. To kill you! Torture you! I know you love him, and he loves you, but he has never cared about me. He hates me, Harry! He always has. He hates that I visit you, hates that you tolerate me. If he actually knew we were friends, real friends, you think he'd hesitate? Every time, every single damn time I come to you I worry that he'll find me before I find you. At least, if you're around when he finds me… at least I know he won't kill me in front of you. At least, I hope not."

Draco swallowed heavily. He was frequently irreverent and sarcastic with Harry, even jokingly insulting, but never this open or vulnerable. "If he thought I had touched you, if he even thought I'd _thought_ about it, I don't know if even you could stop him."

"Would you let me worry about him?" Harry scoffed. He sounded so casual. So carefree! He had no idea!

Draco wasn't sure if he was laughing or crying. "You still don't get it! You're asking for my life, Harry—"

Harry suddenly grabbed his collar and hauled him to his feet. "I said, kiss me," he growled in Draco's face.

Draco tried vainly to shake his head and push away but his back was to the wall. "Ha—"

"Shut up."

Something sparked in Harry's eyes and in the blink of an eye he hauled Draco away from the wall and spun them around, putting his own back into the corner he yanked Draco to him, grabbing Draco's head in his hands. "Kiss me," he insisted, quietly this time.

He pulled Draco's head down until their lips met. For a heartbeat, Draco panicked. _It's over! I'm dead. He'll kill me—HE is KISSING YOU!_

He melted forward into the kiss, gently pressing Harry back against the wall. He could feel every muscle, hardened with years of training, even through Harry's leathers. Draco's hands, which had been braced against the wall, slid, one to twine in Harry's hair, the other to cup his cheek. He felt Harry's hands—large, strong, sure—caressing his neck, trailing down his front and around his waist. _Merlin, it feels so good!_

Eventually, they broke the kiss, but didn't pull away.

"There," Harry whispered. "Was that so hard?"

Draco was still leaning against Harry, panting into his shoulder. "The hardest thing I've ever done." The fear was back, but now it was a tiny thing, quivering in a corner of his mind. A trembling certainty that at any moment he'd see red eyes over his shoulder. But just now there were more pressing matters to consider.

"Can you say it now? Please?"

Harry never said please, not to anyone, except in jest. But he meant it this time. Draco pulled back slightly, barely enough to meet Harry's eyes. "I love you, Harry."

Harry nodded. "Thank you," he whispered.

Draco felt a momentary stab of worry that Harry didn't keep going, _I love you too, Draco. Idiot! He's the freaking Dark Prince. He doesn't want to be your boyfriend. You'll be lucky to get a snog every once in a while when he needs to let of steam._

Draco stepped away, suddenly nervous. "Well, uh, now…now you know."

Harry grabbed his wrist and Draco tensed. "That's it? 'Now I know?' Merlin, Draco! What do you want? Tell me what you want!"

Draco tugged against Harry's hold, a fruitless gesture. "I don't want anything! You—you're the Dark Prince, Harry. After this I should probably stay away from the Manor for…well, I should just stay away. It would only cause problems."

The pressure on his wrist increased. "What do you _want_ , Draco?"

Draco shuddered to hear that voice to tender. It was true, he should stay away. He should leave right now. But it was Harry. _His_ Harry, in more ways than one now. "Whatever you'll give me," he said quietly. "I want all of it. I know that's not possible. You wouldn't want…you're right. I'm a coward. I can't fight. I can't duel, either. Not really, not like you can. I may be clever at Hogwarts but I'm not… _gifted_ , or especially talented." _Or beautiful._ "I'm not asking for anything, and I won't."

He waited but all Harry did was drop his wrist. He grabbed it with his other hand and rubbed some feeling back into it. Harry was dangerously still. Draco swallowed. He should leave. He should! Leave and never set foot in Riddle Manor again. Never respond to Harry's letters. Never meet him on Hogsmeade weekends, certainly. It was all over. It had to be over.

He knew that was the only way. But what he said was….

"I won't ask. But if you need to… ever..." He swallowed. Admitting this was as difficult as everything he'd already admitted. _In for a bottle, in for a cauldron._ "I said I wasn't a toy, but if that's what you—"

He cut off as Harry grabbed his collar again and hauled Draco back against his chest and kissed him again. This time he was rougher. Draco observed distantly that his fingers were woven so tightly in Harry's hair he could easily have pulled it out. He tightened his grip. Harry hitched his hips up tighter against him and Draco moaned into Harry's mouth.

Roughly, Harry thrust Draco's head back a bare inch. "Never say that again. Never! If we're going to do this, we do it properly. Never suggest anything else! Not even to yourself."

Draco could barely think. Every nerve was alive and tingling! He nodded, barely knowing what he was agreeing with. "Never. What….? Do you mean you actually—"

Harry kissed him again. "Yes. You're my best friend, Draco. My only friend. Who else could I possibly love?"

Draco licked his lips, still nervous. "What if you meet someone?"

"I could never trust anyone else," Harry said evenly. "I trust you with my life, Draco. And with this." He pulled Draco down again.

Draco melted into it, into Harry. It was really happening! After months of longing, wishing, knowing it could never be, finally—

The door swung open.

"Draco? The idiot barman seems to think—Morgana's tits!"

Draco leapt back from Harry, fear, terror coursing through his very live nervous system. He pressed himself back against the wall, feet away from Harry, staring wide-eyed at the man who had walked in.

Harry slowly, gracefully peeled himself from the wall. "Lucius," he greeted the man. Draco's father. Harry was regal, exuding authority from every pore, but the threat hung heavy in his voice. "A pleasure to see you, though your manners could improve."

"Of—of course, my prince," Lucius stammered. His eyes swept from Harry to Draco and back. "Forgive my intrusion. I had no idea you were here."

Harry waved away his apology, supremely unconcerned. "I am having a private discussion with your son, Lucius. I trust you will not speak of this meeting to _anyone_."

Lucius bowed, but not very low. He still seemed out of countenance, but his eyes were calculating. "Of course, my prince. My lips are sealed."

Harry frowned. "Understand, Lucius, I will speak to Father myself. I would not like to learn others have spoken before me."

Lucius bowed again, shaking his head. "No, no. Of course not. As you say. He shall not hear it from me."

With a nod Harry waved him away. "I must finish speaking with Draco. Then I will return him to Hogwarts. I will see you at the Manor?" It was not a request, but an instruction. Draco flashed a small smile to Harry, though his relief was infinitesimally small. Harry had bought him a reprieve from his father's questions, though Draco had little hope his father could truly hide what he had seen from the Dark Lord. He _always_ found out.

Lucius bowed and left with one final, calculating glance at Draco.

When he was gone, Draco slid down the wall and curled into a ball.

"What now?" Harry asked. A small note of irritation had crept back into his voice.

"He's the best Legilimens in the world. One look at Father and he'll know. Believe me Harry, when I get back to Hogwarts, there'll be a summons home. From there, he'll take me to _him_." At least his voice wasn't shaking, even if the rest of him was. He struggled to his feet, stepped up to Harry, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. With a sigh he brushed a hand over the place he'd kissed.

"That's all I ever wanted. Just that. Just to tell you…"

He stepped back and turned to the door but once again Harry was there before him blocking the way.

"You're really that afraid of him." Harry sounded unbelieving. "You really think he's going to kill you."

Draco merely met his eyes and nodded.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "Alright. Come with me." He turned to the window.

* * *

Lucius entered his home and was immediately set upon by his wife and sister-in-law.

"Where have you been?" Narcissa asked, eyes wide with worry.

Bella looked relieved, but more angry than worried. "The Dark Lord has been waiting for over an hour, you fool!"

She grabbed him in a steely claw and dragged him a few steps before he could wrench himself free. He gave the women a look but made no answer as he quickened his steps to the drawing room. Swinging the doors open he bowed low, lower than usual.

"My lord, I beg your forgiveness."

The Dark Lord turned and regarded Lucius with a calm, calculating expression. "I am not used to being kept waiting, Lucius."

Lucius stepped further in and shut the doors behind him. He bowed again. Never hurts to be too careful.

"Again, my lord, I can only beg your forgiveness. I shall see it does not happen again."

The Dark Lord turned away, dismissing Lucius' apology with an off-hand wave. Much the same gesture the Dark Prince had made a scant two hours ago. Folding into a wing backed chair away from the fire the Dark Lord hissed for Nagini.

"I hate delays, Lucius. But you know this. I am curious why you have risked angering me. What could possibly trouble you so much?"

Lucius thought quickly. The Prince had forbidden him to speak of the encounter, even to the Dark Lord. It was an impossible situation.

"I had a very troubling encounter, my lord," he began, speaking slowly. "I must confess I have been ordered not to speak of it. Even, I might say, especially, to you."

A thin dark brow rose over the red eyes. Pale lips tightened. "Ordered?" The lips peeled back in the beginning of a snarl.

Lucius bowed again, even lower. "Your forgiveness, my lord, but even you have instructed me to obey this person."

Sharp nails drummed on the chairs arm.

"You speak of my son."

Lucius knew his silence would be correctly interpreted, and also compliant with the Prince's order.

"Is he in danger?"

Lucius frowned. "I… I think not," he knew he did not sound sure. "I can think of nothing, short of Dumbledore himself, or your own person, who could pose any threat to one so skilled." He trailed off.

"But?" the Dark Lord prompted.

Lucius swallowed. "He instructed me not to speak of it, my lord. He wished to speak to you himself. I hesitate only because you have instructed me to obey him and retain his trust."

The nails beat a furious tattoo.

"Very well. Come here, Lucius. As Harry knows full well, you can give me what I need to know without saying a word. Let me see what you have seen."

* * *

Draco stood in the sitting room of Harry's suite at Riddle Manor. He felt exhausted but couldn't bear to sit still, so he stood at a bureau against the wall examining a pile of books Harry had left there. These books would never be found in the Hogwarts' library. Harry had left just moments ago to fetch something from the training grounds. The Dark Lord had yet to return to the Manor.

The wait had Draco on pins and needles. He lifted a promising book and flipped it open. Half the words he didn't recognize. Even if he could concentrate he wouldn't make it far in this one. He was just about the put the book down when the door to the suite banged open.

Pain like he'd never felt wracked Draco and brought him crumpling to the floor with a scream! His father had used Crucio a few times over the years, in extreme circumstances, to express his displeasure. But this! This was miles, lightyears, more excruciating.

"No! Please! I didn't… I didn't mean to! Aaaaaah!"

He vaguely registered the Dark Lord's presence and two others besides him. Without even looking he knew them to be his father and his aunt.

"Father, no! Help m—Aaaah!" He knew it was useless to ask. His father would never stand against the Dark Lord, not for anything.

Finally, the spell ended. He lay on the floor, curled in a ball, heaving. He had only a moment's respite, barely enough time to push himself up as high as his knee before a whip, seemingly made of fire lashed across his shoulder and sent him sprawling again.

The Dark Lord walked towards him. "You pathetic worm! I should have ended you years ago. You dared to touch him!"

The whip came down again, and again.

"No! Please, my lord! I never tried—aaaah! I never tried to—!"

"SILENCE! DOG!"

The second Crucio was even worse than the first.

Suddenly the pain lifted and someone was on the floor with him holding him, rocking.

"I'm sorry, Draco! I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry."

He knew that voice. Knew those hands. Despite himself, knowing who was watching, he reached out and clutched at Harry. His breath hitched but somehow he found he could speak, at least a whisper.

"I..ttt-told you. We sh-sh-shouldn't. I ssssaid…"

"I know," Harry held him tighter and ran a hand over his hair. "I know! I should have been here. I'm sorry. I'll make it right."

Dimly Draco looked up. A bright blue bubble arched over them. A shield cast from Harry's magical core. Nothing could break through that. Not even an Unforgiveable. And he did this without a wand! He could see the Dark Lord, could see all of them, watching through the shield.

Harry pulled back and hissed, running a hand over cuts and welts that showed through rips in Draco's clothing. "Let me…"

Draco cried out and arched his back as spikes of ice drove into him everywhere there was a wound. But in just a few heartbeats the ice melted and he felt the flesh knit back together. Harry even said a quick Reparo on his clothes. It wasn't perfect. They were still ruined. But at least he didn't look like a beggar.

"Can you stand?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Try." Harry shifted to a crouch and started to pull Draco up. "You should at least be standing for this."

Draco's eyes flickered back to where the Dark Lord stood, beyond the shield, glaring death at them. "I don't' think I'm strong enough, Harry." But he was already on his feet. When his knees threatened to buckle, Harry nudged him over so he could reach the bureau again.

"Find the strength, Draco." He brushed a hand across Draco's face then stepped back. The blue bubble dissolved.

* * *

For a long, tense moment, Harry stood looking at Draco, his back to his father, gathering all he wished to say, all he had planned to say, tonight even, just not here. Finally he turned to face his father's furious stare. He smiled, tiredly.

"Father. It is good to see you home," he said quietly. "There is something I want to tell you about. Something wonderful!"

He paused. Had this gone the way he'd imagined, with him approaching his father in his study, during a calm, pleasant mood, this was where his father would nod encouragingly and tell him to go on. Now, his father simply continued to glare at him. At least he was no longer looking at Draco.

"I have discovered someone, someone who can, how did you put it once? 'Make a man out of me?'" Harry laughed, a dry, humorless chuckle. His father continued to say nothing. "I would like to tell you about him."

A slight flaring of the nostrils told Harry his father did not approve of that pronoun. But the lifted chin was all the permission he needed to continue.

"His family is unblemished: pure bloods through all recorded lineage. Unwaveringly loyal to our cause. They are rich and powerful, one of the most influential families in England! He has the loyalty of nearly all of Slytherin behind him, and influence over much of Hogwarts as well. He makes even the Ravens work for their marks. Plus, he's witty and clever. Cunning."

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco. "And he's beautiful."

He saw Draco blink at him in shock.

"He flies like it's a dance with the sky. Silver white hair soft as silk and skin like satin."

Harry couldn't help but smile as Draco blushed and looked away.

"I can't tell you how happy he makes me. How… free." Harry felt a glimmer of surprise in himself as he realized how very true those words were. "I cannot wait to introduce you."

He met his father's gaze, something few other men dared, and none with whom they were on friendly terms. Now he waited, though the minutes stretched long, he stood straight and still and patient as a stone.

Lucius shifted uncomfortably. Bella—he knew her well enough to know she had settled on being angry because she was too confused to let herself be anything else.

At last his father's red lips parted in a sneer.

"And who is this magnificent specimen?"

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "His name is Draco, Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. Our greatest supporter's only son." He said it with pride.

That pride nearly faltered when his father sneered again.

"It seems I have been too lenient, tolerating the brat. Lucius, you were instructed to keep him from my son."

The blond man paled and bowed, stammering apologies.

"I _asked_ Draco to come," Harry interjected.

His father ignored him. "And now I am assaulted with images of this worm molesting my son. Pinning him to a wall!"

Of course! His father would have seen what Lucius had seen when he walked in. Despite his father's obvious rage Harry laughed. The laugh grew until he threw his head back. It was nearly a full minute before he had himself back under control, but he was still vibrating with mirth. It was just too funny! As if Draco could ever hold him against his will!

"Forgive me, father! I forget myself. You mean this afternoon? When I blocked Draco inside a stingy room in a pub and forced him to reveal feelings he had buried so deep I had to haul them up with a fish hook? When _I_ ," he pointed to himself, "held him there and _forced_ him to kiss me?"

He could see the doubt bloom in his father's face.

"Believe me, father, if anyone has a right to be incensed, it is Lucius. As if Draco could ever restrain me! I have at least three times his strength and well over twice his magical ability. He could outperform me on a dance floor, perhaps, but never in a fight. He was far too afraid of you to even tell me how he felt, not to mention actually doing anything about it, but I forced his hand. I had to know."

His father still stared at him doubtfully. Harry stepped forward. "I would never lie to you, father. Never. But if you don't believe…search me. See the truth." He lifted his chin, but not in defiance, rather in submission, offering to let his father use his Legilimency to see what had happened between them.

His father's presence entered his mind, searching. Harry brought up his memory of that afternoon, leaving it all open but bringing forward certain moments. Draco's oddly meek entrance, his pleading for Harry not to ask, Harry blocking the door, Draco insisting the Dark Lord would kill him and that he would disappear, then his own command that Draco kiss him, and how he manhandled the other boy to finally make it happen.

Finally his father withdrew. He seemed…somewhat mollified. At least that was progress.

"I see," he said, though he wasn't happy about it. "If it is a companion that you wish I can procure someone more suitable for you. A Veela perhaps? Or—"

"No, father," Harry cut in. "Forgive me, but no. Even if you bought me an entire brothel of women—or men—from France or Italy or even India, I could never trust them as I trust him."

"Trust?!" his father spat.

Harry nodded. "I trust Draco with my life. If only I took as good a care for his life as he does for mine." He sent Draco another apologetic glance. He had never really imagined his father would have attacked him, _tortured_ him.

His father strode forward, coming within inches of Harry, but he did not back down. "He is not worthy of you!" his father spat.

"Is anyone? Father," Harry sighed, suddenly tired. "I must have someone, even just one person, who is _mine._ Most of your Death Eaters don't know I exist. Those that do are your most loyal servants. I see no one else, unless I face them in battle. Is one person too much to ask?"

He could see his father considering. "He is belligerent and disrespectful to you. I will not tolerate it."

"He does exactly what I ask of him," Harry replied, "even when I ask too much."

The Dark Lord arched a brow doubtfully.

"Draco," Harry snapped. "Fetch me my slippers."

He heard Draco shift, but he kept his eyes on his father. "Y-your…slippers?"

"Yes." Harry glanced over his shoulder. Draco was staring at him. Harry nodded towards to door to his bedroom. "In there, by the bed. Fetch them for me."

With a nervous glance at Harry's father, Draco slowly backed away and then darted into the room. He returned with Harry's slippers clutched in one hand. Pausing at the doorway, the silver haired youth again gave Harry's father a look as if he were a live snake. An apt comparison.

Had they been alone, Harry would have expected a dramatic, sarcastic presentation of his slippers, assuming Draco didn't just throw them at him. But now Draco walked meekly to his side and held them out.

"Your slippers, my prince."

Harry took them. "Thank you," He tossed them aside. Meeting his father's gaze he grinned. "You see?"

To the side, Lucius twitched and father's gaze flicked in that direction then back.

"He is the heir to an Ancient House. He is obligated to marry and produce an heir. Preferably more than one." The last, Harry knew, was a barb directed at Lucius for only producing one child. "Do you intend to deprive House Malfoy of a future? Or will you give him up to his bride?"

Harry looked aside. He hadn't considered this. He again glanced at Draco, now standing at his shoulder. Draco's eyes were nervous, pleading, but held no answer for this question.

"Surely," Harry said, turning back to his father, "that is between us and this alleged bride?"

His father's lips pursed together again.

"If that is the price I must pay to have Draco at my side," Harry said quickly, "Then I will gladly pay it."

The silence stretched. "How long has this… _thing_ been going on?" his father ground out.

Harry reached out and grasped Draco's hand. "It just began, father. Just today."

His father sneered and turned his gaze to Draco. "So, I saw. But _you_ have had designs on my son for far longer, is it not so, dog?"

Draco cringed back away from Harry but Harry tightened his grip. Draco stammered, "No. No, designs. I mean, I-I've seen…I never meant…"

"And this sniveling coward is to be your paramour?" The Dark Lord swung back to Harry.

"He was willing to bury his feelings forever and then to brave your wrath and face you in person," Harry answered calmly. "That sounds like no coward I know."

"Bah! Look at him! Shivering like a dog! How do you know he even wants you?"

Harry cocked a brow at his father. The very idea of someone not wanting to be with him was frankly hilarious—though a tiny voice deep inside, the one who saw the fear in the eyes of the men he was sent to kill, wondered why anyone would want to be with him. _Monster_.

"I assure you, father—"

"I want to hear it from him."

All eyes turned to Draco, though Harry glared at his father openly first. Draco twitched with so many hostile eyes on him and stepped back as far as he could with Harry holding his hand. The Dark Lord stepped right up to Draco and tipped his chin upwards, none too gently.

"My son seems to think I should spare you, despite your presumption. He thinks he actually desires you." Clearly the Dark Lord thought little of Harry's choice. "Perhaps you will make him a nice _pet_. But since this pet can speak, as Nagini speaks to me—though she in infinitely more useful than you could ever be—you will answer me. Do you desire my son?"

He asked the question in a low, silky voice, dripping with venom and even seduction. Draco shuddered. The cold fingers digging into his face made his skin crawl.

"Yes," Draco said firmly. At least his voice was not shaking. The Dark Lord's grip tightened and tilted his head back.

"Why?" the Dark Lord snarled.

"Father—" Harry tried to interject but the Dark Lord ignored him, giving Draco a small shake.

"H—he is—" Draco licked his lips. "Brilliant. A-a-and beautiful." He closed his eyes. Harry saw his face flush and wondered how much was fear and how much was embarrassment. Draco was almost insanely private. "Clever. S-s-strong. He is—He's not—not just powerful, he is power itself."

The grip rose again, drawing Draco onto his toes.

"Father!" Harry protested.

"You think to share my son's power?"

"No!" Draco squeaked.

"You will never share one shred of his power!"

"Father, enough!" Harry grabbed his father's wrist and pulled it down and forced himself between his father and Draco. "Please, father. You know he has no ambitions on my position. It is me he loves, myself alone."

"So you believe." The Dark Lord yanked his hand out of Harry's and whirled away. Almost immediately he spun back and thrust his face close to Draco's. "You say you desire my son. What will you be to him, worm? Assuming I let you live."

Draco looked down then to the side and slowly up to meet Harry's eyes. "Whatever he wants, my lord. I will do, be, wh—whatever h-h-he—"

The Dark Lord circled Draco, looming over him. "You will be his pet?"

Draco flinched at the word, but answered, "yes." Harry almost didn't hear it he was so quiet. Inwardly, Harry fumed at the question.

"His paramour?"

"Yes."

"His faithful servant?"

"Yes."

The Dark Lord completed his circle with a disdainful sniff and made to whirl away from them again. Harry's hand on his arm stopped him after only a step.

" _Please_ , father. I have always obeyed you. You know I always will. I do not think I ask for much. But I ask for this one thing. I want _him_ , father. I _want_ him. Only him."

Slowly his father turned to face Harry.

"What precisely are you asking for?"

Harry suppressed a sigh of relief. If they had gotten to specifics…"I want to grant him guest right. He is free to visit me, here and in the training grounds, whenever he chooses. Let the House Elves serve him as my guest. He is not to be…bothered." Harry gave the last word a weight he knew his father would understand. No Death Eater would interfere with Draco. "That is all I ask."

"I am surprised you don't ask he be given his own suite, and servants besides!"

Harry grinned. "He doesn't need his own rooms. Mine are more than adequate for both of us."

His father stood looking back and forth between the two, considering. "I will not have him drawing you out where you can be harmed."

"No, father. Certainly not."

"Or distracting you from your training!"

"I am your chosen weapon, father. I stand ready, always."

For a long moment, an eternity, the Dark Lord looked past Harry to stare at Draco. Draco kept his eyes down, but his back straight.

"I do not approve of this… _relationship_ , Harry. He is pathetic and you are worth ten of him. But as all you ask is guest right…and he is Lucius' son, after all. Perhaps in time this worm will evolve into something more useful. Very well."

Harry let out a relieved breath and heard Draco do the same.

"Thank you," he said as sincerely as he could manage. "Thank you, father." He smiled up at those red eyes.

Suddenly the Dark Lord stepped forward, aggressively, thrusting his chin over Harry's shoulder to speak into his ear, though his voice still carried through the room. "If he puts one toe out of line, if he endangers you, spoils you, or disappoints you, I will end him."

Harry stiffened. He turned to meet his father's eyes, knowing his own were equally hard and threatening. "You will not. Not unless you hear it from my own lips, said in your presence, to your face."

"Do you challenge me, my son?"

"Never. But he is mine. It is for me to choose if and when I am done with him."

His father sniffed, but straightened and backed away. "You will join me for dinner. Tomorrow. Bring the cur if you wish."

The Dark Lord swept from the room, Bella following with only a quick glance behind. Lucius paused, looking between them, until the challenge in Harry's eyes finally drove him out.

When he was clear Harry waved his hand and the door slammed shut.

Draco sank to the floor.

"Well," Harry said. "That could have gone much worse."

Draco laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. Harry opened a nearby cupboard and pulled out a crystal decanter and two tumblers. He shoved a nearly full glass of firewhisky, only slightly watered, at his friend— _boyfriend._ He couldn't help grinning at that!

"Here. Merlin knows you earned it."

Draco waved away the proffered glass. Pulling himself up with the aid of the bureau he tottered over and pitched onto a plush sofa. He was still laughing. Harry followed and set the glasses down on a nearby table.

"What's gotten into you?" he demanded.

Finally Draco collected himself. "If that had gone any worse, I'd be dead. Gods, I don't think I'll ever be afraid of anything again in my life."

Unsettled, Harry leaned against the arm of the sofa near Draco's feet. "Well, then, I'm glad something good came out of it." He shifted uncomfortably. "I truly am sorry about—" He gestured vaguely then ran a hand through his hair. "I never thought he'd go that far. I should never have left you. Hell, I should have followed Lucius from Hogsmeade!"

Draco was looking at him with a mixture of understanding and—was that sympathy? Oh, and an obvious dash of _I-told-you-so_. Now that everything was in the open, Draco seemed to be recovering much of his normal self-possession, even arrogance. Sprawled on Harry's couch, he shrugged. "I've always known you see him differently."

He paused, then seeing Harry's expression sighed and sat up against the far side of the sofa. "To you he's your father. He's the man who saved you and gave you a life, and a damn good one! He's given you everything! You've never had to be afraid of him. He isn't 'the Dark Lord' to you. I know you've seen him kill and torture his enemies, but, have you ever actually believed it? I'm not questioning _him_ ," Draco put in quickly, "just—"

"I know, I know," Harry cut him off.

There was silence for a while. Draco broke in quietly. "You know you are more noble than he is." Harry cut an accusing glance at him. Draco merely shrugged.

"Well, at least he came around."

"In a manner of speaking," Draco shot back.

"I said I was sorry!" Harry snapped. He grabbed one of the glasses of firewhisky and tossed back a mouthful.

Draco picked up the other glass and looked at it intently. Harry was reminded that Draco rarely drank; he only took so many chances with Hogwarts rules, something Harry found completely foreign. Suddenly Draco looked up with a small smile. "Forgiven." He tossed back a mouthful and promptly choked. "Just— _cough—_ please don't let it happen again."

Harry nodded and slid down onto the sofa opposite his _boyfriend._ "It won't. I'll make sure of it. He does keep his word you know."

Draco merely raised a brow and took another, more measured, sip. This time there was no choking. "Did you mean what you said?" he asked.

"I said a lot of things, Draco, could you be more specific?" He was getting a bit irritated and wasn't sure why. He tossed back another gulp from his tumbler.

"About me?" At Harry's wry expression he looked away, but continued. "You said I was… _beautiful?"_ He flushed brilliantly. Was it his imagination, or did the blush make Draco's eyes seem darker?

"You know I don't lie to my father. I meant every word."

Draco was looking into his whisky again. Harry fought the sudden urge to snatch the glass away. Why was Draco staring at his drink when he, Harry, his _boyfriend_ , was sitting right here?

"And to me?"

Harry frowned. "I don't lie to anyone, Draco. You know that. What's eating at you now? We got what we wanted!"

For some reason Draco frowned back into his tumbler. This time he tossed back a respectable mouthful, again without choking. "That…that brings up a…a valid question. The Dark Lord asked…what I would… _be_ to you." He paused. "This afternoon, you asked what I wanted. I meant what I said, to the Dark Lord. I will be whatever you want me to be." He gave a small shudder that Harry suspected he had tried to suppress, and he suspected it was connected to his father's references to 'pets.' Draco continued, "but I would like to know."

He set the glass down and looked up at Harry, more collected and serious than he'd been all day. "What do _you_ want from me?"

Harry locked his eyes into those silver irises and suddenly knew what had been irritating him. Hastily thrusting aside his tumbler he all but lunged across the sofa!

* * *

Some minutes later Draco was once again sprawled across Harry's sofa, rather more disheveled now and with a supremely satisfied look on his face.

"You know, you never did actually answer my question. Not in regards the long term anyway. I do heartily approve of the short term answer, by the way."

He watched Harry straightening his robes. Harry also wore a satisfied expression. Merlin, it was nice to actually _look_ and not be afraid of looking!

Harry turned and sank onto the sofa by Draco's waist. For a long moment he merely looked at Draco. Just as it was getting a bit uncomfortable Harry finally spoke.

"Father can be quite old fashioned, but I have to admit I liked his use of 'paramour.'"

Draco raised a brow. "A secret lover?" he asked, considering.

Harry sighed. "He's right. You have obligations to the House of Malfoy. I can't take that from you, when the time comes." Draco noticed his expression darken at the admission, though. "And I know you have a part to play now. I also don't know if father's enemies would target you if it came out about us."

There could be many interpretations of this, many of which Draco knew could cause serious problems. "Meaning?"

Harry sighed in frustration. "Meaning I understand if you have to take a…a _girlfriend_ ," he spat. "But here, between us—I have no intention of making you a _pet_ , whatever father thinks! I have a thousand Death Eaters and House Elves to make pets. Not to mention Nagini."

Draco snorted. "Nagini?"

Of course Harry said it in Parseltongue, but by now Draco had learned to recognize a handful of the most basic phrases. Not that he could duplicate them. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Back to _us."_

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Harry sighed again. Draco had never seen him so out of countenance! "Boyfriend, paramour, partner—whatever. Draco, I want you. All of you. I don't want you to be some kind of… of _servant_. I'm not hiring you for pleasure," he said with some disgust, "or ordering you to please me like some lackey. I could do that with anyone. I could _pay_ anyone to do that. I want…I want you. I want you to be you, to… tell me when I'm an ass and try to beat me at chess—"

"I could beat you at chess," Draco interjected. "Easily. I've just always felt it more in the interest of my continued survival to let you win."

Harry looked at him askance.

"You'll see," Draco said. "Pray continue."

Harry punched his shoulder, but without force. "I can't lose you as a friend to this, Draco."

Draco leaned up and kissed Harry gently on the cheek. _Paramour, huh?_ That did have a rather romantic ring to it.

"Can I ask you a favor, oh my paramour?"

Harry grinned delightedly. "Ask away, _darling_ ," he teased.

Draco snorted, then frowned. There was something he'd always wanted to ask of Harry, but he didn't want him to think this was a joke. He tensed, knowing Harry would notice and said calmly, intently, "I want you to teach me to duel."

* * *

 **A/N: WARNING: this will NOT be a full series fan fic! I am playing with some of Kurionne's characters because they are awesome. I love how this story is turning out, but I am not going to try and re-write Darkness Within. If you want to know how it all plays out, go read her stuff and just imagine it with Harry/Draco instead of Harry/?. I have just a few more scenes for you before I drop this one, and two more characters I hope you'll love.**

 **Feed the Muse! Leave a review! And, go read my actual HP fic, For the Love of Sirius, which is ongoing.**


	2. His Dark Prince

**A/N: This story is an alternate relationship fic based on _the_ _Darkness Within_ by Kurionne. If you haven't read that one, this won't make much sense.**

 **WARNING: This story contains slash.**

 **Background: Baby Harry is kidnapped by Pettigrew and raised by Voldemort as his son. Trained extensively and kept mostly a secret, at 16 Harry is Voldemort's prime assassin. Most Death Eaters only know of rumors that there is a special person living at Riddle Manor. Harry must wear a mask in "public" to keep his identity secret, even from other Death Eaters. Only Lucius and Bella have actually met him, and they helped raise and train him. Draco joined in some of Harry's lessons pre-Hogwarts and still visits on holidays, though Voldemort does not at all approve of the egalitarian nature of their relationship and is openly hostile to Draco.**

* * *

Pansy watched Draco through narrowed eyes. He wasn't avoiding her, exactly. She didn't think so, anyway. But they were three months into sixth year and all that ime he had been bloody preoccupied with _something._ Currently he sat at a small table in a corner of the common room. Alone. He seemed to have more or less dropped his bodyguards this year. They still followed him around sometimes, but he ignored them, not even giving them orders. He had piles of books and parchment around him and his quill was scratching furiously across the parchment in front of him. But she thought his mind was elsewhere. He frequently glanced around as if waking from a daze.

The thought of a budding or, Merlin forbid, _secret_ romance worried her. She wasn't certain no other girls would make a play for him, but she _was_ sure they knew to expect a fight if they did.

Draco Malfoy was the most eligible boy in her year, possibly in all of Slytherin. The last year even some of the NEWTS girls had been making eyes at him! But Pansy had worked hard since the night of her Sorting to make him hers. It was true that he never returned her advances, but he _had_ allowed them.

Now he outright _ignored_ them. In fact, he seemed to be consciously, even ostentatiously doing so. His marks were climbing through the roof, too. He spent more time with his books than the Ravens!

However, she was starting to piece some things together.

He almost never got mail in the Great Hall. Yet he seemed to frequently be pouring over letters. Half the time when she chassed over to pretend to need his help on an assignment she could see that despite the files of parchment around him, he was not working on homework. A few times she'd even observed him writing on parchment hidden in a text book. She could tell just from the tint of the paper that he wasn't taking notes.

Not to mention his expressions ranged too far afield for notes or homework, and no homework _she'd_ been assigned—and they had the same classes, she'd made sure of that—had ever produced the fleeting tender looks she'd seen cross his face.

She'd also seen the bottoms of several sheets clearly showing the closing of a letter, even if she couldn't read what he'd written.

He also ended these letters with a symbol of some kind. She never got a clear look at it, but she could see enough just from how he held and moved the quill to know it wasn't writing, or a rune, or even—thank goodness—a heart. She guessed it contained a spiral as its primary shape, but the few extra marks he added could turn it into anything. He drew it too carefully to be a notation or scribble, but too quickly to be an actual sketch of something.

More worrisome still, he was disappearing on Hogsmeade weekends. She'd cornered him every Saturday since the start of third year to go to Hogsmeade with her and on all but a bare handful of times he had spent least some of the day with her. But in the last four free weekends he'd claimed to have some sort of prior engagement, or else not left Hogwarts.

He was up to something.

And she was going to find out what it was.

If it was another girl, there would be wands drawn for sure, and possibly blood. Probably blood.

If he was in trouble, perhaps she could help.

If he was doing something exciting and clever, she wanted in.

This time, she didn't bother asking him to Hosgmeade, though she did drop a number of subtle hints while they sat together at meals that it was coming…that she had nothing planned…remember that time in Zonkos?

Nothing. Hardly a grunt for her pains!

Yet, he left with the other students right on time. His shoulder bag was bulging with papers and books. Who brought homework to Hogsmeade? He paid no attention to any of the other students, walking right through some third years' pranks without even glancing at the twerps. He didn't even mock them! Very unlike him.

Pansy tailed at a distance, idly chatting with various housemates so no one would think she had any particular designs and try to follow her, too. He led her on a merry chase through Hogsmeade, never stopping long anywhere. He went through two shops without buying anything—without even actually looking—and then left through the back. What was almost more aggravating was that he wasn't even sneaking. He just walked purposefully, calmly…out the back door while no one happened to be looking.

Except her.

Finally he headed down a small track, not even enough to be called a trail, from behind the Hog's Head. It wound into the woods, vaguely heading back towards Hogwarts, but aimed more towards the wilderness that separated Hogsmeade from the Forbidden Forest but was part of neither.

There was less cover in the woods than in the town, and the path was quite overgrown. Pansy was no woods woman, she knew, and if she lost sight of him here she knew she'd never find him. She was forced to follow closer than she would have liked, and found herself surprised and disappointed that he didn't notice her.

For nearly half an hour she followed him through the woods, and only the last then minutes did she have an inkling of their destination. The path had wound back and forth a bit, and as she had feared there were forks. But sure enough, in the next clearing rose the Shrieking Shack.

Draco had paused outside the fence facing the dilapidated, disgusting structure. He was once again absorbed in a folded piece of parchment. She intended to merely watch. Clearly he was meeting someone. But then he smiled down at the page, a tender, delighted smile just tinged with expectation. The sort of smile girls, mainly herself, had dreamed of seeing on his face when he looked at them.

Before she knew it she was striding angrily from the trees.

Now he looked up!

"Pansy? What are you—"

"Who is she? Who is it, Draco?" She lunged for the paper as she approached, but of course he danced back out of her way.

"What are you talking about? Stop that!" He deftly folded the paper and tucked it deep in his robes. "What are you _doing_ here?"

"What are _you_ doing here, _Malfoy?_ " she spat. "Don't give me any more of that crap about 'studying.' I know you aren't writing essays, and those books aren't on any of our curriculum. You think I'm an idiot? That you can just _play_ me like some—some—"

"What, _Parkinson?_ " he retorted getting angry in turn. "I'm not playing you or anyone for anything. It's my business and mine alone, and I'd appreciate it if you left. Now!"

He glanced around and Pansy knew, knew to the core of her soul, that he was meeting someone he didn't want her to know about. Or perhaps, he didn't want them to know about _her._

"Who is it, Malfoy? Some Gryffindor hussy? I can take care of that little problem for you. How dare you throw me off for—"

"'Throw you off?'" He protested with a growl. "There's nothing to throw off. And there's no problem! You need to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me—"

Draco growled at the sky in frustration. "Merlin's balls, fine! Whatever. Yes, I've been shagging a Puff, alright. A prefect. Much prettier than you and far, _far_ more accommodating. She's everything I've ever wanted, and no, I've _never_ wanted you, Pansy. Not once. It was never going to happen, and won't ever happen, so you can just forget about me, and get the hell out of here. Now!"

She glared at him. He was lying. He had to be lying. A _Hufflepuff?!_ Of all the ridiculous lies! They had to be lies. He wouldn't—he _couldn't!_ It wasn't possible. Even he couldn't hide something like that. But it stung. She knew he was saying it to get rid of her, but oh, it stung! Years of careful planning, positioning, of _work_ , crumbling to dust. She blinked back tears.

"Are you going leave or—"

 _SLAP!_

Draco's head snapped sideways and Pansy had a wonderful view of the vivid red mark on his cheek. For some reason that made her want to cry more.

"You _bastard_!"

Her other hand raised—

She shrieked as she was hauled around from behind by a hand on her wrist. Another hand grabbed her chin and lifted her forcefully up onto her toes. She blinked, finding herself nose to nose with livid green eyes behind a silver mask.

"You will never, _never_ , do that again." It was the most dangerous voice she had ever heard. The hand on her chin actually tightened and she whimpered. "If you ever touch him again, I will end you, and it will not be quick."

Abruptly the newcomer sidestepped and flung her behind him. She stumbled and skidded on the path, shrieking again, then spun back.

Between her and Draco stood a young man clad in exquisite, black robes that stopped well short of ankles and wrists. Boots and gloves and— _bracers?—_ of the finest dragonhide seemed to drink in the light and not reflect it properly. Beneath wind-blown dark hair a finely worked silver mask hid his features, all but the green eyes glowing in barely contained rage and a mouth—a beautiful mouth!—twisted in a snarl.

Behind him, Draco heaved a frustrated sigh. He stepped up to the man. "You really shouldn't have done that," he said quietly, almost too low for Pansy to hear. "I would have handled it."

Then Draco stepped up to Pansy, closer than they'd been before, though he stood to the side as if giving the other man a clear view. "Pansy, let me introduce you to the Dark Prince." He stared at her until her eyes widened in comprehension. She hadn't known they could go wider! "As you may surmise, he is here at the direction of the Dark Lord." Another pause for understanding. "It is of _utmost importance_ to the Dark Lord that the Prince's movements remain _absolutely secret."_

Pansy had never known Draco could be this threatening. He wasn't hulking, or shouting, but he was so _intense!_ He went on and with each sentence Pansy wished more heartily that she'd never gotten out of bed this morning.

"If anyone," Draco said, "anyone at all, hears that the Prince was here today, if they even find it implied or hinted at, the Dark Lord will find you. He will skin you alive, slowly, and then give you to the Wolves for a chew toy. That is, if he doesn't toss you to the Fangs for a snack. You will therefore return immediately to Hogwarts, without drawing attention to yourself. You will forget, entirely, that you have ever seen the Dark Prince. You will forget that you saw me in Hogsmeade today. And you will certainly, never speak, or even think of what happened here."

Pansy was nodding emphatically. Throughout Draco's impressive speech she had been unable to look away from those fearsome green eyes. Oh, Merlin! The Dark Prince! In Hogsmeade!

For a moment both men stared at her, one with loathing, the other with wry amusement. Finally Draco leaned in again. "This is the part where you run."

And she did.


	3. She Makes Three

**A/N: This story is an alternate relationship fic based on _the_ _Darkness Within_ by Kurionne. If you haven't read that one, this won't make much sense.**

 **WARNING: This story contains slash.**

 **Background: Baby Harry is kidnapped by Pettigrew and raised by Voldemort as his son. Trained extensively and kept mostly a secret, at 16 Harry is Voldemort's prime assassin. Most Death Eaters only know of rumors that there is a special person living at Riddle Manor. Harry must wear a mask in "public" to keep his identity secret, even from other Death Eaters. Only Lucius and Bella have actually met him, and they helped raise and train him. Draco joined in some of Harry's lessons pre-Hogwarts and still visits on holidays, though Voldemort does not at all approve of the egalitarian nature of their relationship and is openly hostile to Draco.**

* * *

"Father," Harry said, brows furrowed at his book.

Voldemort did not look up from his work, but made a vague sound allowing his son to continue.

"I am going to pay a visit to Malfoy Manor next week."

Harry turned a page, and though Voldemort's focus was on the reports from his lieutenants—fools!—he knew Harry hadn't actually been reading for some time. Voldemort flicked his gaze at his son.

"Oh? I will not have you put at risk needlessly. You are far safer here, at _this_ Manor."

Harry closed the book with a sigh, swung his legs down from the settee and sat. Voldemort had always been secretly pleased that Harry never flinched from meeting his gaze. "I will be perfectly safe, father. The Malfoy wards are legendary. Lucius and Bella will be there the entire time. Bringing more would only draw attention. What place could possibly be safer than the home of the two people you and I trust most? And one day I am going to comment on the incongruity of my missions and this concern for my 'safety.'"

Voldemort suppressed a sneer, and a sigh. He had never thought he would find himself a parent, certainly not of a _teenager_. It was vital that Harry feel absolute trust between them. Anything less would push him towards dangerous questions, questions that might force Voldemort to kill him—a thought he found strangely painful. He very much wanted to avoid that. Too little freedom and Harry would push back, rebel. He would lose his grip on the boy. But too much…

Why could he not be content to stay in the Manor? Hidden. Secret. Safe. Safe the way a dangerous weapon is safe to its owner when locked in a vault.

"And what temptations has the _boy_ offered to lure you from the safety of _my_ protection?"

Harry smirked. Smirked!

"I will always have your protection. I hardly need to be here in the Manor for that! Anyway. It seems…" He frowned. Was Harry _uncertain?_ He hadn't seen that in nearly a decade. He coughed. Coughed! The lad was losing it. "It seems it would be… prudent for Draco to have—to _employ_ a… a cover."

Harry sighed heavily, and slumped against the side of the settee, frowning intently. He looked up to meet Voldemort's gaze, not the least unnerved by it. "He needs a shield to prevent people asking the wrong questions or getting too curious. He has a potential candidate and he is bringing her to the Manor next Saturday to meet his parents."

Voldemort smoldered. The quill snapped in his hand and ink ran into his papers but he hardly noticed. "Your paramour intends to throw you over, after all your _begging_ , and you wish to _attend?!"_

"What?" Harry asked surprised. "No, not—ah." He scruffed his hair. "Draco is not throwing me over. He is trying to protect me! Mostly from gossip, but you never know who is going to hear exactly what they shouldn't. And he is absolutely right. He needs to appear attached and unavailable in public in a way that doesn't draw undue attention. The only way to do that is a smoke screen. I'm going to the Manor to meet her."

"Absolutely not!" Voldemort stood, fuming. "Lucius and Bella I trust, and as for _Draco_ —phaw! But I will not have you exposed to an unknown element!"

"Father, please! Just listen for a moment." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Of course it's a risk! But it's less of a risk if she knows her place from the beginning. We cannot control the situation if she doesn't know and then begins to suspect. This way we can sound her out, test her, be sure she understands her role. She will be an asset. We can also ensure that she doesn't talk. But if we leave her in the dark we will be setting ourselves up for betrayal. _That_ would be the real risk."

Voldemort glared at his son. The presumption!

Harry finally stood and stepped up to the desk. "It's a few hours in the safest place on the planet outside these walls, with people who would die before displeasing either of us, so I can see if a chit of a girl can keep a secret. That's all it is. Surely you don't think I can't protect myself from a _little_ _girl?_ "

The glint in Harry's eyes Voldemort his son was trying to manipulate him, 'wind him around his finger' as the expression went. But, of course, he was right. There was no just reason to prevent him, the Dark Lord's most feared assassin, from meeting with a girl, particularly one Lucius would have vetted for his own heir. With a grunt Voldemort retook his seat. "I knew that cur would ruin you. Fine! But you are taking foolish risks and if anything turns out amiss even you will feel my displeasure. You will wear your mask."

Harry smiled gleefully and bowed, a hand across his waist. "I would never displease you. Thank you, Father."

He scooped up his book and flopped—flopped!—back onto the settee and continued reading! Teenagers!

* * *

Astoria took a deep breath to calm the butterflies in her stomach. She was serenity itself, she was a stream flowing through a meadow, a falcon gliding on the wind. The exercises helped, mostly.

"Nervous?" her sister sang, traipsing into the room behind her.

With another deep breath Astoria turned only partially. "A little."

Daphne laughed. "That's almost hard to believe. You're never nervous. It's not like you haven't met them before."

"True," Astoria couldn't help but run a hand over her robes, ensuring everything was in place. She began ticking off the things in her handbag as well; that served as another calming exercise and a precaution. You never knew what you might need. Suddenly her fingers twitched. "I was going to bring some tea! Drat"

She glanced at the clock. Daphne laughed again.

"Surely the Malfoy's will have _tea_."

"You know what I mean!"

"You plan to read Draco's tea leaves in front of his parents? You think they'll be impressed?" Daphne teased.

"Oh, be quiet." Astoria drew herself up, not that she was tall. It was doubtful she would ever match even her sister's height, and Daphne was only average herself. "I would never do a reading in front of anyone else. You know that."

Astoria looked back at the clock. Three minutes!

Daphne settled gracefully in a chair near the fireplace. "Of course you wouldn't. I'm sorry. You really are nervous! What are you worried about? Every girl in Slytherin would all but kill themselves to be in your shoes."

"Even you?" Astoria asked. It had worried her. Draco asking her before Daphne was very unconventional.

Daphne blushed, but only slightly. "I gave up on Draco years ago. He's not for me, and I don't need your readings to tell me that. Besides, they'd never let me continue my work."

That was certainly true! Daphne had a brilliant mind for medical potions and was determined to become a Healer. More importantly, and what no one else knew, was that Daphne had also discovered Muggle medical science, and was secretly working on combining the two fields of knowledge. Her dream was to commandeer a Muggle research hospital and build a fused laboratory that combined the two fields, from which she would dispense brilliant discoveries to both worlds. Not exactly a dream to share around the Slytherin common room, or with families like the Malfoys. No one but Astoria knew, though. Even their parents thought Daphne cared for little besides dancing.

"Why are you so nervous? You _have_ met them before."

Astoria sighed. "Not as their son's potential girlfriend. They will be much more scrutinizing this time. And there's something…. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something important about today."

Daphne frowned. She opened her mouth, no doubt to ask Astoria to elaborate, but then the clock chimed.

"Got to run!" Astoria gave her sister a quick kiss on the cheek, threw Floo powder into the fireplace and stepped through.

* * *

She stepped out into a very grand drawing room indeed! Both elder Malfoy's stood before her, resplendent as usual. Draco gave her a welcoming smile from beside his father.

Narcissa Malfoy swept forward to help her out of the hearth. "Astoria, darling! Welcome. It is such a pleasure to have you."

Murmuring appropriate thanks Astoria felt she would never be as graceful or stunning as Madam Malfoy. Lucius then took his turn, bowing curtly over her hand. At a brief clap from Madam Malfoy a House Elf appeared to magic the soot from her cloak.

Draco stepped forward, imitating his father with a bow over her hand, though his was slower and warmer than his father's.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor," he said, repeating what both his parents had already said. "Please, sit down."

He led her to a beautiful Queen Ann chair, not too plush. The Malfoy's settled down as well.

"So, Astoria," Madam Malfoy began. "Draco tells me you are quite gifted at Charms?"

For a while the four of them sat in the drawing room, merely talking. There were no refreshments, but Draco at one point mentioned tea being served soon. Mr. Malfoy was distant, but Astoria was pleasantly surprised at Madam Malfoy's pleasant manner. She had to remind herself, multiple times, that this witch was highly practiced in presenting whatever face was necessary. She mustn't put too much store behind the warm welcome and polite conversation. For all both of Draco's parents seemed pleased with her so far, there was no accounting for what their opinions may be once she was gone. Draco was very quiet.

After nearly half an hour Draco cleared his throat and stood. "Father, Mother, I would like to show Astoria around the Manor before tea is served. Would you excuse us?" He bowed before they could answer and held out a hand for Astoria.

She blinked. The transition had been nearly startling, though she had been hoping to see more of the famous house than the drawing room. To her surprise he wrapped her hand around his arm as he led her from the room. Glancing back she saw his parents both giving him odd expressions. Madam Malfoy seemed suddenly worried and Mr. Malfoy looked as if he had just bet a fortune on a hippogriff he wasn't sure would win the race.

 _This is it. It's coming_. Whatever 'it' was.

He led her through a few rooms on the main floor, chatting idly about the various artifacts and history of the house. The portrait gallery was most impressive!

"And this is the ballroom," he said as they entered a large hall with a beautiful parquet floor. Though she was no dancer, Astoria couldn't help but do a few waltz turns. Daphne may be able to make dancing a nearly religious experience to watch, but Astoria knew she was graceful enough.

"It's lovely!"

Draco nodded and gave a slight smile. His mind really did seem to be elsewhere today. It was rather disappointing. "It is. Though we don't use it much these days."

She settled back on her heels facing him. "Why not?"

With a shrug he walked further into the room, nearly to the center. "Things have been so jumbled, politically I mean. It's difficult to invite the right people."

Nodding sagely, at least she hoped it came across that way, she followed. Politics. That meant the war. That was dangerous territory.

Draco stopped in the exact center of the room and looked around furtively, then gestured her closer. "Come here," his voice was quite low, not much above a whisper. "The truth is there's a reason I asked you here, and it wasn't to meet my parents."

Astoria blinked. He really was nervous! This had to be it, whatever it was that would make today momentous. Strangely, it made her less nervous. At least he hadn't been preoccupied because she was boring! "Oh?" she said. "I thought, perhaps that was the case."

He blinked. He looked awfully cute when confused, but she stifled a giggle and contented herself with a small smile. "You've been preoccupied for a young man presenting a possible girlfriend to his parents." Even as she said it she kicked herself. Girlfriend! Ugh. He had never actually said, or even directly implied, such an intention, though he'd been making overtures for a month now and inviting her here certainly seemed to validate the assumption.

Draco coughed and straightened his robes, though they were perfect already. He looked again around the room. "This ballroom has a rather useful quality; it's impossible for anyone to listen in without us knowing." He paused again, shifting his weight back and forth. Astoria began mentally preparing herself for the worst. He surprised her.

"Can you keep a secret, Astoria? A huge, deadly secret?"

When he looked into her eyes she was stunned at the vulnerability hiding within them. Draco Malfoy? Vulnerable? The boy was notoriously ice made flesh.

Could she keep a secret? Oh, Morgana, how many did she have already? Her gifts, her sisters dreams, her mother's— she had plenty of experience with secrets.

"Draco," she said carefully, laying a hand gently on his arm. "Secrets belong to their owners. I think it wise to share the burden of a secret, if it is your own secret. But sharing the secrets of others is perilous. I can keep any secret, Draco. But—" she held up a finger, "I require one caveat for anything as serious as this must be: I can and will share anyone's secret if someone's life is at stake."

He frowned. "What if revealing the secret endangers more lives?"

"If someone has a knife to your throat, Draco, and demands I tell them whatever it is, then I will do so. We cannot mitigate the damage if you are dead. But that's about what it would take."

When he nodded she let out a long breath.

"Will you swear to it?" he asked.

She blinked at him. "My word is not enough?"

"I wish that it were, but we don't know each other that well. The secret I want to tell you concerns another as much as myself. I have to be sure."

With a sniff Astoria whipped out her wand. Holding it in her left hand and pointing it at her heart, she raised her right hand. "I, Astoria Delphai Greengrass, swear on my magic and the wands of my ancestors that I will not reveal any secret belonging to Draco Lucius Malfoy by word, deed, or omission unless doing so will save a life or he release me from my vow." She returned her wand to its pocket in her sleeve. She had made this vow a handful of times to different people and it would not be the last. Vows were constricting though. She wondered how many she could make before some of them started conflicting.

Draco was nodding. "I guess I can't ask for more than that." He still seemed doubtful. "Just so we're clear, this entire conversation must be kept secret. Whether you agree to help or not, you cannot breathe a word to anyone, ever."

Astoria nodded, nearly a bow of the head. "Unless your life depends on it."

To her surprise he gave a wry grin. "You have no idea how likely that is." With a sigh he turned to look out the windows. "The truth is, I _do_ want to ask you to be my girlfriend: to pretend to be, actually. I have a secret that concerns someone else as well, and _no one_ can know. Even my mother doesn't know and it's much safer for her if she never does. I can't afford people to get curious. Me being almost 17 and single? That makes people curious. It's not what they expect. With my family—we have a very public life. I would have reporters following me, classmates spying on me, all to figure out what on earth is going on that Draco bloody Malfoy hasn't hooked up." His mouth twisted at the last as if he wished he weren't a Malfoy any longer. Quite a switch from the proud face he displayed at school.

"It's hardly fair, I know," he continued, "being tied to a fake boyfriend, but I'll play the part. That has to be worth something. And I can pay you whatever you want. Whatever it takes. I—"

He finally turned to look at her and stopped short. If she had a mirror she knew her face would be glaring stony murder. She was practically vibrating!

" _Pay me?"_ If her voice where louder than a whisper it would have been a shriek. "If you want my help keeping a secret, Draco, fine! House loyalty alone is enough for that, even if we aren't exactly friends. But I will not have you _pay me_ to be your _fake girlfriend!_ I am not a _whore_ , Draco."

She was tempted to march straight out. Heck, she was tempted to slap him! Closing her eyes and forcing her fists to open she concentrated…. _I am a cloud in the wind, a stream flowing through a meadow, a flower opening to the sun_. More slowly than she would have liked, serenity returned.

Still with her eyes closed, she asked, "What is this horrible secret you need help keeping? If I'm going to help you, I have to know what I'm protecting. Otherwise I will fail without even knowing it." Opening her eyes she saw him looking at her, wary and somewhat shocked.

"If you can't tell me, I might as well go home." She started to turn and he jerked out of his shock.

"Wait!" he placed a hand on her shoulder, nearly a grip, but not a tight one. "Wait. I'm sorry. I never meant to imply that you'd be…I didn't mean that. If you agree, I promise I won't touch you —except what's required in public. And I will tell you the secret. We debated that, actually, but in the end we agreed you had to know." He sighed again, gathering is courage, she realized. "The secret is that I'm already with someone: someone no one is supposed to know exists. No one can find out! If anyone does, well, there could be all kinds of damage depending on who it is. The entire war could explode in our face. And I'll be dead long before it gets that bad." He finished solemnly, and she knew it was absolutely true. His very life depended on this secret.

Astoria had closed her eyes as soon as he said he was with someone. She had been so sure! The readings never lied! She opened her eyes and stared calmly up at him.

"So," she said quietly, "to be clear. You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend so no one will know about your paramour?"

At least he had the grace to blush and look away. "Yes."

A leaf on the wind, a snowflake gently falling, a rose bud opening to the dew. The _nerve_ of him! "Who?"

Again Draco began shifting his weight, considering, stalling.

"Draco," she said sharply. "I have not agreed to this. I don't want to see you in danger and I want to help you. But you realize what you are asking?! As much as I am honored you trust me enough to ask for my help, your request puts me in an insulting situation. It's disgraceful! I want to help you, because you seem to need it. But I have a right to know who I am protecting."

"Will you do it?" he asked suddenly, anxiously.

Astoria straightened. "I will think about it, very carefully. Probably, I will. But I will _not_ until you tell me who else I am protecting."

Draco smiled and took her hand, again wrapping it around his arm. "Good enough. Come with me."

* * *

This time he led her to the library. Compared to the size of the room, there were relatively few bookcases. The rest was set up as a sitting room, a casual one for the family. A lovely tea was laid on a side table and she could smell the mulled wine as soon as they entered. At first she didn't see the young man perched on the arm of a sofa but when she did she nearly stumbled.

She took in his appearance in a flash—clad in black leather, weapons holsters, messy black hair, athletic build—but all she really saw was the mask. A silver worked mask hid most of his features, but she knew him. Oh, she knew him so well! Visions, memories, danced across her sight. She was not ready for this! Not for _him!_

"Astoria," Draco was saying. With the blood rushing in her ears she could hardly hear him. "I'd like you to meet Harry." Slowly, Astoria collected herself. A bird floating on the wind…"Harry," Draco said warmly, "this is Astoria Greengrass."

Automatically Astoria held out her hand, her mind continued to race. What was _he_ doing here?! What was she to do?! Harry took it and bowed over it, actually kissing it! Even Draco hadn't done that.

"Miss Greengrass. What a pleasure?" he said. His voice! Any other time, she might have swooned over that deep, melodic voice, but now it sent chills down her spine. She knew that voice and it haunted her.

Trying desperately to think, to get the puzzle to fall into place, she responded automatically, and nearly ruined everything! "The pleasure is all mine, prince. I mean— Harry! Sorry, I don't know why I said that." She pulled her hand away from his suddenly tight grip and turned to the sofa across from him. "Draco, dear, I think I would like some of that wine. Would you mind? I feel a bit—overwhelmed."

Harry frowned between them as Draco promptly spun to the side table as if he'd been getting her drinks for years. A distant portion of her mind noticed Draco's unthinking response and triumphantly catalogued it as proof her readings weren't off after all. Well, not far. What was _the Prince_ doing here?!

"So, Miss Greengrass. Draco told you of our situation." It was not a question, merely a prompt.

She blinked and looked between them. "Your… " Suddenly a piece of the puzzle clicked into place. She nearly fell onto the sofa instead of sitting. "Oh. You're the one…with Draco." She finished lamely.

"Yes," they said in unison. Both suddenly wore triumphant grins, though Harry's didn't last as long as she could have wished.

Draco gave Harry a warm, knowing smile as he set a steaming cup of mulled wine—no doubt very diluted—on the table in front of her. Then he joined Harry on the opposite sofa. Well, Harry remained perched on arm, watching her but Draco settled next to him. Harry smirked at Draco as he sat and brushed a hand down his cheek. An astonishingly gentle gesture from someone as menacing as the Dark Prince— _don't think about that!_

"Well," Harry turned those piercing eyes back to her. She gulped at the wine. Oh dear, it wasn't diluted after all. "Will you accept Draco's offer?"

 _Draco's_ offer, she noted. Not their offer. Just Draco's.

Carefully setting the cup back down, Astoria straightened and gathered her thoughts. It was dreadfully difficult with him looking at her so intently. He was far, far more intimidating than Draco, and not just for the obvious reasons, and Draco was bad enough. "As I told Draco, I would _like_ to help you, both of you. But I needed to know who and what I'm protecting, and then I will have to think about it. Now I know. Well, I know your name at least. Draco didn't tell me he was with the…I mean, with a…." she trailed off. She didn't want to be rude. One didn't talk about such things.

Harry's smile became somewhat possessive. "It was a surprise." He stood, a flowing, sinuous motion entirely too beautiful for a man—and he was most definitely a _man_ , whereas Draco hovered on that verge where both 'man' and 'boy' could apply—and crossed to sit next to Draco.

Resting a hand casually on Harry's knee, Draco raised his own cup to his lips. Astoria vaguely noted that Draco had brought a cup for himself, but not for Harry. Harry merely summoned one with a flick of his wand. Intricate nonverbal magic! How powerful was he? Very, by every indication.

"How long will you need to consider?" Draco asked quietly.

Astoria knew he was trying to calculate how long they could last without cover. Oh, Morgana, he was with the bloody _Dark Prince!_ Who supposedly only existed in rumor! If it ever came out, the damage could be catastrophic, perhaps more so than either of them knew. _Focus on the question. You can answer the rest later_.

"I am not sure, a couple of days at least. Draco…" She leaned forward and, bravely, turned to include Harry as well, "Harry… you _do_ know how dangerous this is? For both of you? For _everyone_? If the wrong people find out about you…," she looked pointedly at Harry. Gods, his eyes were so intense they nearly swept her away, or melted her into a puddle of fear. Either way! She tried to suppress a shudder and failed.

"We do," Harry said. His voice rang with conviction but she knew, _knew_ , that he didn't even know the half of it. And she didn't dare tell him. Not here, not now, but soon. The thought nearly froze her blood.

"Let Draco know when you've decided," he continued. Of course, she couldn't be allowed to communicate directly with the Dark Prince. "We need to know before he goes back to Hogwarts." Two weeks. Less than, actually. Well, she actually knew her decision now, but there were other complications to deal with. Would that be enough time?

"That should be fine," she forced.

Harry let out a long breath, leaning back and stretching over the back of the sofa. He reached a hand up to his Mask. Draco quickly put a hand on his arm.

"Harry!" he hissed.

Harry brushed him off with a grin. "He only said I had to wear it, not that I had to keep it on." And he took off his mask.

Wine sloshed over Astoria's hand, which was fortunate as it gave her something to look at besides the face across from her. Otherwise she knew she would have given herself away by staring in shock. Everything fell into place! It was all connected! No wonder she— she had to get home. She had to be _sure!_ How much time would he give her? Too little, certainly. Too little! Not a minute to lose!

"Oh, goodness!" she exclaimed over her sleeve. "So clumsy—oh no, Draco, look, your rug! I'm so sorry. This must be stronger than I thought. Mother still dilutes mine." She added a small giggle. "She doesn't know what gets passed around the common room, though."

She stood and fetched a napkin from the table and took a few moments to think as she cleaned up her sleeve. She mustn't leave right away, it would tip him off. Of course, she very much feared he was already tipped off. Those piercing eyes missed nothing, she was certain, even if you thought they weren't looking. Making a light excuse that she hoped was believable, she returned and forced herself to make small talk for a full fifteen minutes. Her favorite subject was Charms; yes, she flew but didn't play Quidditch; of course she'd heard of the famous writer Morovichnova; yes, she danced but not as well as her sister; Pansy was definitely a Troll.

At length she claimed a headache, which she really did have, and asked Draco if she might go home a bit early. He escorted her back to the fine drawing room, saying goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy along the way.

"You will let me know as soon as possible?" he said quietly, pulling down the pot of Floo powder.

"Of course," she answered. Her hands gripped her robes and she didn't take any powder right away. "Draco?" she began seriously, though staring at the fire.

"Yes? What?"

She shifted. How to ask? Was now the right time? If Harry didn't wait, the knowledge might be imperative. "There is something I need to ask you. I don't want to pry, but I need to know."

He made a noncommittal grunt.

"Your father is—" she glanced around the room, seeking a way to ask without being too direct. "He is known to be… _well connected_." She let her right hand drift almost casually to rest on her left forearm. He tensed. Good! He was following. Her eyes flicked up to meet his gray ones. "Are you?"

She wasn't sure which answer she wanted him to give. Either way could mean he was in even more danger. For some reason the thought of him in danger twisted her stomach. How much fire was he actually playing with?

Draco let out a breath that was not quite a sigh, not quite a huff. His lips pressed together, but she couldn't tell if he was angry or disappointed or something else entirely. At length he replied stiffly. "No."

No. He wasn't a Death Eater. She was surprised and relieved, though not entirely sure why.

"Will you be?" she asked, searching his eyes for…what? Hope? Regret?

To her surprise Draco looked away. Was that… shame? Fear? Both. "I very much doubt it."

With a nod she clasped his hand. "Thank you." She grabbed a handful of Floo powder, kissed his cheek and stepped into the fireplace.

* * *

Astoria's eyes opened slowly. It was still dark, though well past midnight. She'd only been asleep for a few hours at most. She not slept well.

"Are you there?" she asked the room quietly. A rustling of fabric and leather told her he was, as she knew he would be. With a heavy sigh she sat up. "I prayed for more time, but you are not a patient man, are you, Harry James Potter?"

For the first time she looked up at him. All she could see were glints of moonlight off his mask, small sparkles in the shadows of the far corner. But even through the shadows she felt the piercing eyes, the anger, the imminent danger.

With a deep, slow breath she wrapped herself in serenity. He was just another seeker. Never mind that his questions—and her answers—held the fate of the world. She climbed out of bed and donned a thick robe of soft wool.

"How did you know?" he growled from the shadows. She had to pass him to get around the bed and as she did so she laid a hand on his arm.

"Peace. There is a great deal to tell you. Come—" She started to step away but he grabbed her wrist and twisted her back to face him.

He leaned forward and the moonlight brought out stark shadows on his face. "How. Did. You. Know?"

Breathing deeply she tried to ignore the pain in her wrist. She must be calm. She must be serenity itself. She was a rosebud…."I said I would tell you everything. Please have patience, just for a moment. I swear you will know everything I know and how."

He raised her hand which pulled her even closer but at least her wrist was no longer twisted painfully. His grip still hurt though. "If you dare lie to me…" He let the threat hang.

Now she glared back. "I do not _lie_ , Harry James Potter. If you release me I will give you my oath on it, if that is what you require."

He did release her, so suddenly she stumbled. "Swear it."

For the second time today Astoria drew her wand with her left hand and held up her right. "I, Astoria Delphai Greengrass, swear to you, Harry James Potter, on my magic and the wands of my ancestors to speak no word that is not true and to withhold no knowledge to which you have a right, unless you release me from my vow."

A tingle swept over her skin and she pocketed her wand. "Will that suffice?" Silently he nodded. She let out a sigh of relief. "Well, then. This way please."

Her room was not large, but one side had been partially separated by a low wall to make a semi-private alcove. The alcove held two plush chairs and a cupboard atop an elegantly carved vanity table. "Have a seat, if you wish." Astoria gestured welcomingly to one of the chairs, but was unsurprised when he remained standing.

"I am going to summon my house elf," she warned him. "Muffy!"

The Elf appeared with a _pop!_ "Yes, miss? How can Muffy serve? Does Miss want some cocoa or—"

"No, Muffy. Could you make us private, please? And seal the door and windows. Oh and bring some of my tea, if you would?"

The Elf bowed low. "Of course, miss." There was a brief flash around the walls, and then the elf popped away and returned with a steaming silver tea set, complete with gleaming silver teacups and saucers.

As the elf vanished again

"What was that?" Harry growled.

Astoria began serving the tea with slow, calm motions. The preparation was nearly a dance and vital to the accuracy of the readings. "She has sealed us against intrusion and eavesdropping. You can still leave anytime, but the Muggles could drop a bomb on this building and her ward would still stand."

She felt him relax a hair, just a hair.

"I do not always take such precautions," she said, still forcing calm. Talking helped. "But tonight is too important."

"Meaning?" he demanded.

For a moment she ignored him, focusing on activating the correct runes on the tea pot and the cups. As she poured the tea she answered. Or tried to. "There is so much to tell you…I don't know where to begin."

She set the steaming cups down. They had to sit for exactly two minutes and forty seven seconds. She cast a timer spell and sat at the vanity. She had to think!

"You had best find a place and start talking," he said, fiercely. "And what's all this?" he gestured to the tea. "If you are stalling—"

"Yes," she said with a weak laugh. "I suppose I am stalling." She looked up at him, and felt herself nearly trembling. Were those tears in her eyes. "Oh, Harry!" She had to look away again, hiding her face in her hands. "This is so difficult! _Please_ be patient! Tonight of all nights. I am not ready for you!"

Her control slipped and a sob escaped. Still standing in the entry to her alcove, he tensed.

"What has gotten into you? What is going on, Greengrass?!" he demanded. He looked around as if expecting an attack.

In the small alcove it only took a step for her to reach him and gently take both of his hands.

" _Please_ , Harry! Please, be at peace. I am not your enemy. I will never, ever harm you, whatever it may cost me. But you must understand, tonight is the most important night of my life. What I have to tell you, and I have so much, will change the fate of the world. You will change the fate of the world. And I must be so very careful to tell you everything so that you do not merely hear but _truly understand_ , and you must hear it in the right order. There are things you must know before I can tell you other things."

He relaxed again, just a hair, but she stepped back and retook her seat at the vanity.

"You said you were stalling?" he pressed, but not as angrily.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Why? If this is all _so_ important?"

"Because I am afraid." She hugged herself so that she wouldn't tremble just thinking about how afraid she was. "I told you, the fate of the world hangs on what I say to you tonight. I am so terrified I can hardly breathe." She glared up at him for a moment. "And you are not making it any easier."

Slowly he entered the alcove and sat in one of the armchairs. "And the tea?"

Her timer chimed. Immediately she took up one of the cups and held it out to him.

"This is a rare tea used exclusively by Seers. True Seers," she added fiercely, seeing the doubt in his eyes. "Not frauds like that pathetic Trelawney Draco may have told you about. You _must_ drink while it is warm, or I must begin again and the reading won't be as reliable."

He frowned at the cup and she sighed. "Must I give you another oath to prove I am not your enemy? It's just tea, Harry. Oh, it is bitter though! Honey makes it useless. Drink as much as you can."

He looked up at her. "Why? What is the point of this? I asked you—" he was getting angry again!

"I know," she said quickly. "I promise, _again_ , that I _will_ tell you. Harry…" she sighed and leaned back in the chair opposite him. "Very well. I know a great deal about you, but it wasn't until yesterday that I realized—well, that it all came together. Before I thought you were three different people. I spent all evening trying to learn more, to piece it together, _so that I could tell you the Truth._ But some things I cannot do without you, like tea leaves. _You_ must drink the cup. After this I will read your palms and your Cards. I must add that knowledge to what I have or we may miss something vital that you need to know. There is too much that doesn't make sense. I don't dare tell you anything until I know as much as possible. Please drink, and I will tell you what I can for now."

Still eyeing her askance, he raised the cup to his lips. She wasn't lying about it being bitter and his grimace brought a modicum of satisfaction. He kept drinking though.

She returned to the vanity and opened the cupboard. It folded out to reveal a trifold mirror and exposed a strangely carved bouquet of crystals, two stacks of painted cards, containers of several sets of multi-sided dice in various colors, and a large golden disc marked almost like a compass but with too many points.

"I think first I must tell you about myself. I am not stalling, now," she reassured him. "Three years ago we discovered that I have the Sight. Not Prophecy, so far as I know, but Sight." He continued drinking in small sips but watched her warily. She busied herself arranging the tools she would need. Talking really did help. "I do have Dreams, usually about my own future, but like most things with the Sight they are merely hints at the future. It is nearly impossible to see exact details. For instance, I've known for over a year that I would love two men in my life, but not who they would be or when I would meet them. One would be my husband." A small smile escaped her lips, thinking of Draco and his beautiful gray eyes. As soon as he started showing interest she had done several more specific readings with very pleasing results.

She looked up at Harry in the mirror, "But the other would rule my fate." Trembling, she wondered how she could be saying this. It was too hard! "For a long time I hated him. I thought it meant I would be unfaithful, and I couldn't bear that. But when I realized it was you…"

Harry sputtered, spraying tea. His cup was nearly empty. He was staring at her in shock.

"Me? You are in love with me?"

She turned from the vanity to face him. "You are the second man, but I am not _in love_ with you. I think that I will love you because of Draco, because you love him and he loves you. For his sake, we will both love each other. Closer than brother and sister, I think, but not as…not as lovers. Not as far as I can tell."

Even behind the mask she could see his shock. The mask made her frown, but she would get to that.

"How is the tea?"

He glanced down and then threw back the last swallow. Gagging, he thrust the cup at her. She took it and moved to the other chair so she could use the side table. Flipping the cup to let it drain, she pulled a small notebook from the shelf under the table and opened to her last page of notes.

"The tea must drain. May I see your hand?"

He held it out slowly. She examined it automatically and began talking notes, but continued telling him about her gift.

"I want you to understand how Divination works. Little of Divination is actually about the future. It is far more about what _is_. Sometimes what is has great bearing on the future, but it's often hard to distinguish the two. The readings do not lie, not to a True Seer, but they don't always make sense. The Sight speaks in symbols and hints. Symbols can mean many different things. Multiple readings can help narrow things down, but all too often only the subject really knows what to do with the knowledge we give them. That is why I need to do so many readings for you. There is so much about you! It's…it has been overwhelming. May I see the other?"

He switched hands and she continued.

"Thank you. Normally, one of the greatest difficulties for a Seer is knowing which questions to ask. We cannot find knowledge we don't know to look for. Normally. With you it has been different."

She swallowed. "I never looked for you, not at first. Not for a long time. But you _haunted_ me. It seemed no matter what I was looking for I frequently wound up seeing you. Seeing this." She looked up and the fingers of her free hand brushed the mask. She shuddered. "The first time, almost two years ago, I saw you kill a man. Every few months, while practicing scrying, looking for all manner of immaterial things, just to see what I could do, I would see you." She nodded towards the mirror. "The mirror is like a crystal ball, except far more accurate and controllable. Every time you appeared you were… You…" She had stopped taking notes and was gripping his hand with both of hers, staring at it, but not at his life lines. She couldn't help but caress the calluses. "Nine kills. I think I only saw ones that happened while I was scrying. I don't want to know how many I missed. The first reading I did was to know who you were killing, but even that didn't make sense: both friends and enemies. Were they friends who had betrayed you? People who thought they were your friends but weren't? Were they your friends but my enemies, or the other way around?

"Every time I saw you it seemed you were harder, like steel becoming brittle in the frost. And yet you glowed brighter than the sun, a pure, warm light I could have basked in forever. It was as if I was looking at two different people. The first time I heard a rumor about a 'Dark Prince' I knew it was true. Until then I didn't know who the boy in the silver mask was."

Again she frowned at the mask. Releasing his hand she stood to fetch her cards from the table. "I could almost never find you if I tried to look, and so few of the readings I did deliberately made any sense. Though that's not surprising: I had no idea what to ask. I guess that your home is Unplottable?"

She waited for his nod. "I thought so. Unplottable locations are also un-scryable. Scrying isn't that precise anyway, usually, and most Seers will still only see symbols or metaphors, often visions, but not typically what's actually happening. I can usually see some of what's actually happening, but I will only see snippets, and almost never an actual location. It is theorized that our magic has innate protection against scrying. Yours…"

She returned to the chair and pulled the table between them but hesitated to hand him the cards. "You are so very powerful, Harry. You pull my Sight like a magnet. You have no idea how many times I've done readings for other things, using any of the tools and they've gone wild! It look so long to realize something was drawing my Sight. Anyway, I was trying to say is that you needn't fear I can simply spy on you. It doesn't work like that. Draw?"

While he drew card after cared and she arranged them, taking notes on each one, she remained silent, only murmuring under her breath as she processed the cards he drew.

"Are you going to tell me about my life line?" he sneered suddenly. She started!

"What? Yes, of course. Normally, I do. I mean, normally I tell seekers about their readings as I do them. Yours are very complicated. I am trying to be cautious." She glanced up from her notes and met his eyes. Drat that mask! "I am not trying to hide anything from you. I promise!"

He nodded to the cards as if to say, 'get on with it.'

She did two card readings, each in a different arrangement. At length she put up the cards and then put the bouquet of crystal on the table. This time she did hesitate. She as not nearly as good at reading this as she was other types of readings.

"Few Seers know how to use these. It is called a paralis crystal. I confess I am not as skilled at this as at the others, but…I think you need to know as much as I can give you, so I am willing to try. It requires a drop of the seekers blood, here," she pointed to a vertical crystal in the center with a small indentation at the very top. "It will produce light and possibly smoke. It doesn't usually respond well to questions, so context is difficult. Are you willing to try?"

"How many of these _tests_ do you want to do?" Harry said testily.

"This is the last," she replied.

"Very well," he said with a sigh. Faster than she could blink he had a dagger in his hand and then it vanished and he pressed his finger to the crystal. It was a tiny drop, but a flush of red swept through the entire crystal, followed quickly by bright gold and then silver. The two metals swirled around the crystal, remaining separate, pacing each other like opponents preparing to duel.

"Interesting," Astoria murmured.

"What? What is it?" Harry asked.

"I'm not sure. I think it corresponds with something else I've seen. I need a minute to think." She took the notebook and returned to the vanity. For several minutes she sat silently, making more notes, drawing lines and symbols across the page. More than once she took a set of dice and tossed them in a tray, taking yet more notes.

"What are you doing now?" Harry said, growing impatient.

"Thinking," she replied shortly. "Please don't rush me. I must not tell you something untrue by accident." She looked up briefly. "I hope you know it _would_ be an accident."

He merely nodded.

At length, she sighed and sat back, feeling quite drained. "There. It is done. I know as much as I can possibly know tonight." She stood, taking the notebook with her, and turned to retake the chair facing him. Passing, she rested her hand briefly on his shoulder. "Thank you for being patient. It will be much easier now."

Sitting she replaced the tea tray and the table between then and began to prepare a new pot. "Normal tea this time," she said with a small smile. "You won't see anything in these leaves."

"What did you see in the others?"

She mulled over if this was the right place to start. Deciding it could be no worse than any other. "A rat eating a snake. The rat can stand for a spy or betrayal and can refer either to you or someone close to you. The snake I think is symbolic, but I'm not sure of what. I also don't know if the rat is eating the snake or will eat the snake. I do think the rat represents a person."

"You think it could mean I will betray someone? Betray a snake?" he asked, scoffing, though it sounded forced.

"I don't know. It's possible. I don't think so though. I think the rat is someone else, and I think it is very important that you find him." She poured the tea.

"Him? You got all that just from the leaves?"

"Yes and no," she answered. "Understand, a large measure of Seer's talent is the ability to know, to some extent, about the things she sees even if they aren't concrete. I don't know who the rat is, that is something only you can find out. But I do know that you can only find the truth if you find this person. Other readings indicate a quest for truth that you must undertake, that is apparent in the cards and the visions I've seen while scrying."

She slid a cup across to him, but kept her fingers on the saucer.

"Before I go on, there is one more thing I need from you, Harry. Well, two."

His frown clearly said his patience was wearing thin.

"First, I must have an oath from you, and I must explain one more thing so you know exactly what I am asking you to swear." She took a deep breath. So much depended on this oath! "I have said the readings do not lie, and I have sworn not to lie to you, and also told you that the readings are often imprecise. But what I tell you tonight is the absolute truth as far as I am able to know it. It is very, very important that you hear everything. You must not leave until it is all said, no matter…" she faltered, swallowing. Lifting her hand from the saucer, she leaned forward and gripped his hand. "No matter how much it hurts."

She blinked, trying to hold back tears. He was going to hurt so much before she was done!

Taking a shaky breath she continued. "The truth is a cold thing, Harry. It is neither good nor evil, and it has no heart. It is not _kind_. It only _is_. It can hurt more than any torture you can imagine. Your truth will hurt. It will hurt you very, _very_ much!"

She was squeezing his hand as hard as she was able, but did dare let go or she might not continue. "Some of my readings indicate that what I tell you tonight will break you, utterly. I do not _want_ to hurt you, Harry, but I _must_ tell you these things."

His hand suddenly squeezed hers, painfully. "And what is this oath? To listen until you talk me to death?"

"No," she said, trying to ignore her hand. "You must swear—" she stood and kneeled next to him, taking both of his hands this time. "You _must_ swear that when you leave tonight you will initiate no violence against another soul until you know the entire, absolute truth about yourself."

For the longest time he merely stared at her. "'The entire truth?'" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded. "I can give you much, but only a beginning. The truth I can—must—give you will create a thousand more questions that only you can answer. You can choose to pursue those questions or remain blind, and that choice will determine if the world survives or is consumed in fire and war."

"And you would have me swear to do no violence? After that?" He was suddenly taught as a bowstring and would have stood out of his seat if she hadn't pulled with everything she had to keep him seated.

"No! I would not leave you defenseless. Only that you must not _initiate_ violence, not against anyone, no matter how much you may hate them." Her knuckles were white. He must agree! He must! The world depended on it.

"You think I will immediately go kill someone off, don't you? Who? Who are you protecting?" he demanded suddenly suspicious.

"Everyone!" She nearly screamed. "I told you. Your choice will save us all or end everything, including yourself. I don't know how it will play out. It's tied to the war, to the… to your father. I don't know which side will win given which choice. But I know if you do not find the truth then you will die. Even if you survive physically you will have killed everything that makes you _you_. If you do find it," she ran her thumbs over his knuckles, "then all will be saved."

She swallowed and continued more quietly. "There is a third possibility. On the third path you strike out in anger and destroy something precious and unrecoverable. Precious to you, but you don't know it yet. Only later do you realize what you destroyed and that knowledge in turn destroys you, and everything else. So please, Harry, by everything you hold dear, every dream you've ever had of the future, of their _being_ a future, by your love for Draco, you _must swear_ _to me_ that you will do nothing until you have found the entire truth!"

Finally he nodded. She released his hands, but remained kneeling.

"I, Harry," he began, " do swear to—"

"No," she interrupted, gripping his knees. "You must use your full name. Your _real_ full name. That is now the magic works."

He glared at her but finally began again, this time correctly.

"Thank you," she breathed when he was finished. Slowly, feeling thoroughly thrashed, she stood and retook her seat.

"Now, will you tell me what this horrible secret is?"

"Yes," she said. "And this…this is the most difficult part." She looked to her vanity, where the gold and silver continued to face off in the crystal. "You are two people, Harry. Or you are trying to _be_ two people, and they are fundamentally opposed. You don't see it, either because you haven't realized it yet, or maybe you are afraid that if you acknowledge it you will have to choose. That choice will be devastating, when it comes." She looked between the crystal, her cup, her notes…anywhere, but at him. That mask…"But you must choose. I can also tell you that, to some extent, you don't see it because of…" She stopped and finally did look at him.

"Take off the mask, Harry."

To her surprise he made no objection, merely moved slowly to pull off the mask. She held out her hand and he placed it on the table within her reach. She picked it up and nearly hurled it away. It was her imagination, or perhaps part of her gift, but it sent waves of revulsion through her. She dropped it back to the table.

"This is not a mask, Harry." Anger at the mask gave her courage to meet his gaze.

"Looks like a mask to me."

"No. It is not. Physically, perhaps it is just a mask. And perhaps it isn't even enchanted or cursed, though I won't swear to that. But it is not a mask. It is a _blindfold_."

She flicked her wand out of her sleeve and at the crystal mirror on her vanity. An image appeared in the glass.

"This is how I see you, _every single time._ "

It was him, leather clad, dual wands drawn, primed for violence. The mask glistened on his face as he looked to and fro. But while his green eyes were clear to see when he looked to the side, whenever his gaze swept out of the mirror towards them the mask became a silver scarf covering his eyes.

Astoria couldn't help but sneer at the mask. "Perhaps it is merely symbolic and this mask doesn't literally keep you from seeing the truth. But whoever gave you the mask did not do so for your benefit, but for his own."

He looked from the mirror to her with flaming eyes. "How do you know it was a gift? What if I made it myself?"

"I _know_ , Harry. I know it is a thing you willingly embrace because you do not see it for what it is. I _know_ you see it as a gift, as a sign of protection, of significance. To you it means power, position, acceptance maybe even love. And you have willingly taken it upon yourself because you dare not consider the alternative. But you must not be blind any longer."

She leaned back and folded her arms. "I would smash that thing right now if I could. It represents everything that threatens you."

"Threatens me?"

"Yes," she nodded. "You flirt with danger like a Gryffindor Keeper with women, and I don't mean your… _work_. It is not the danger you think you face that threatens you. I don't know who or what it is, but I know you refuse to see the threat from this source. You think it contained, safe. You are like a child who thinks it has tamed a wild cobra because it hasn't bitten him yet."

She flipped over a card. It showed a knight in armor striding through a forest, unaware of the huge snake that wrapped him from head to toe. "This is the truth you refuse to see."

Harry considered the card for a long moment. "Is this the snake the rat is supposed to eat?"

"Perhaps."

"So what am I supposed to do?" he said it mocking. "Set out rat traps, or would snake traps be more appropriate?"

She glared at him. "Don't be flippant. I am talking about your _life_. You must find the rat, and find the truth. First you must be _open_ to the truth. You must allow yourself to question everything you think you know."

He sighed, getting tired, perhaps bored of her warnings. "Anything else?"

Astoria nodded and began clearing the tea from the table. "Yes, there is one more thing. If you wish, I can give you a list of all the readings I have made for you, though I don't know how much sense they will make since you haven't studied divination."

Having cleared the table she drew her wand and sat tapping it into her opposite palm. "Earlier, I said that until yesterday I thought you were three different people. One was the second man in my future—now present, I suppose. The second was the man in the mask, the Dark Prince. The third I have known as the Lost Child. I didn't know that was you until you took off your mask yesterday. I suspect, though I don't know for sure, that this…this may be, at least partly, the truth that you must accept. At least one of them. And…"

She gripped the tip of her wand, bracing herself.

"And? What? Get on with it," he said belligerently.

"And it is going to hurt. You must be brave, Harry. This is going to hurt you so much, but you must hear it." Gods, she was going to cry again! She had hoped her anger had gotten her past that. A rose in the sun, a leaf on the wind. Deep calming breaths. She kept her eyes to the table top though.

"A few years ago, shortly after I found my gift, I became friends with another student at Hogwarts. A boy. He is very sweet, smart too. And he didn't seem to mind at all that I was in Slytherin, though most of his House refuse to even look at us. I think he would try to comfort his worst enemy if he could. I came to like him very much. Naturally, I tried doing some readings to see if we were compatible, but they didn't work. The readings didn't work _at all_. I couldn't figure it out for weeks, and finally on a whim, I tried reading him as a younger sibling, rather than an eldest or only child. It makes a difference, sometimes. It all fell into place, except he denied he had any siblings. I got curious. Perhaps too curious, but now I am glad that I did. One night, Christmas, actually, I saw him arguing with his mother." She glanced at the mirror and knew he was following. "There was something odd about her, so after he left I continued to watch her. This entire viewing was only a few seconds, and I couldn't even tell you where there house is or what room this was in. Even at that, it's a miracle I saw this much—"

"Is this really relevant?"

Astoria glared at him. She was getting much more comfortable meeting his eyes. "Of course it is!" she hissed. "Be quiet! As soon as her son left, she opened a hidden room. I saw that it was full of boxes. I don't know what's in them; the vision ended there and I couldn't find it again. I have tried but…I don't know enough to ask the right questions I think. But I can tell you this much, whatever is in that room brings her both intense joy and unimaginable pain at the same time. I could feel it through the vision and I thought my heart would break. It was the pain of a love lost forever."

"What does this have to do with me."

Sighing, Astoria continued. "Two things. First, you must find that room and what is in it. I don't know what you have to do with it, but you must see it. Secondly, this is the boy."

With a careful sweep of her wand the face of Damien Potter appeared in her mirror. His hair was dark like Harry's but not unruly, and it had a faint red glint where the light touched it. His eyes were brown and square, his face soft and gleeful. Even so there was no mistaking the resemblance.

"This is his mother."

"No," Harry said quietly, but Astoria continued.

Damien faded away and Lily Potter materialized. Her green eyes glowed.

"And this—"

"Enough!" Harry said with more force. Bust Astoria ignored him, though she felt her tears gathering.

"You must be strong, Harry. You _must_ see this. This is his father."

The face of James Potter was less lively than that of his wife and son. It was a memory from a newspaper clipping. Astoria had never seen him in person, or in a vision. He was dashing, handsome, but there was a hardness about his eyes—Damien's eyes—that you couldn't fail to notice. Aside from the eyes, he was an older version of Harry in every respect.

Astoria felt Harry stiffen and knew he was about to explode, so she shifted the image.

A younger James Potter appeared. This was also a newspaper clipping. You could just see part of Lily's head as he held her. Both were clearly broken body and soul, weeping, even strong James Potter. James had blood on his face and his shoulders heaved as he sobbed. A caption, barely visible, scrolled at the bottom, '…pureblood heir missing, stolen during attack! Parent's devastated to find…'

"This was published fourteen years ago. On All Saints Day," Astoria provided. "Here is the attached article."

The weeping James Potter vanished and a page of the Daily Prophet filled the mirror. The date was November 1, 1981. The headline read 'War Heroes Betrayed! Brutal Attack in Godric's Hollow Ends in Missing Child.'

"And the follow up."

The article was replaced by another, dated two months later. This headline spoke of a body found and 'Harry Potter' confirmed dead. The accompanying photo showed a James Potter with vacant, dead eyes and tightly clenched jaw.

"What is this?" Harry growled. "What stunt are you trying to pull?"

"No stunt," she answered, letting the mirror grow dark. How was she so calm? She should be shaking in her slippers. "These articles are in the Daily Prophet archives, exactly as you have seen them. I have copies I can give you. It took a lot of looking to find them, Harry, but they are _real_."

He stood up so fast his chair flew backwards. "It's a lie! That's not what happened! I remember them. Do you know what they did to me? You want to see the scars?"

"I have seen the scars, Harry," she answered. "Not literally, but I have seen the scars on your soul. I know the magnitude of what you went through, even if I don't know the details." She stood, clutching calm with her fingernails. "How old were you?"

"What?!" he snarled. "I don't have to answer anything you ask! I'm done—"

" _Nox."_ The lights went out. Astoria waited in the dark for a few heartbeats. "I swore on my magic, Harry. On my magic! _Lumos_." The lights leapt up again. His face was twisted with hate, but she met his gaze calmly. "I swore on the wands of my ancestors that I would never lie to you. If this were a lie, I would be a squib already."

She stepped around the table and closed the distance between them. "Whatever you do I want to be sure you do it because you _know_ it is the right decision for you, and not because you were led to it. Everything I have said you must do amounts to discovering more truth for yourself. You came seeking truth. That is all I give you."

Shocked at her own daring she lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. She tried to smile at him but tears once again leaked through her lashes.

"I once saw you save Ginny Weasley in Hogesmeade. With my own eyes! Not through a vision or scrying. Even though _he_ had ordered the attack, you went anyway, and you saved her. Saved her from his own men. You have a heart of gold, Harry Potter, and you try so hard to hide it!"

Brushing a thumb over his cheek bone her hand slid down to his chest. "I know this hurts. It can be nothing short of devastating. You are so strong, but this—this is a festering wound. You _must_ hear it. I cannot tell you how painful this is for me. But I beg you to listen!"

He was glaring daggers at her but said nothing. Finally she repeated her question.

"How old were you?" She hoped she didn't need to explain the question. She wasn't sure she could, but there was only one thing that made sense.

Harry's mouth twisted into a grimace. "I was four," he spat. "A four year old, so _tortured_ and _broken_ by his own _parents_ that I _ran away to die_."

"What year was that?"

Now he blinked.

"1984," she answered, quietly. "Those articles? They are from 1981. Just after your first birthday. Damien is only 13. He was born in 1983. You would have been three, plenty old enough to remember. Do you? Do you remember your brother? Do you remember wondering why she spent so much time on this little thing that invaded your life? Every sibling remembers that."

He was vibrating with tension. Behind him she saw the gold and silver lights in her crystal swirling faster and faster, as if they were trying to shatter it. Stepping back she turned and picked up the mask again. "I do not know how it was done. But it did not happen as you think you remember it. It isn't possible. So I ask you a question. Why do you wear this?"

He frowned at it. "To protect me from my father's enemies."

She nodded, sagely. "And why would it matter? As powerful as you are, what could possibly threaten you that a _mask_ could protect you from?"

He gave no answer, merely stared at her.

"Here's another," she continued, keeping her voice quiet, even, calming. "Your appearance. Surely someone as powerful as your father could change it?"

"He just won't, alright. It's not a big deal!" Harry started breathing hard. "I do not like what you are insinuating."

Astoria didn't back down or change her tone. "So, you must keep James Potter's face, the face of a man you obviously hate, yet hide it behind a mask anytime _anyone_ could see you. Why, Harry? Why?! What is the threat the Dark Lord fears? If he feared for your safety, every Death Eater would know your face and be ordered to protect you. Why a mask?"

She turned and slapped the mask back onto the table.

"Shall I tell you or have you puzzled it out?"

"Is this part of your gift? Do you feed this shite to everyone who asks you a question?" He was getting angry now and loomed over her.

She quirked an eyebrow at him, allowing herself to get angry—on his behalf, true, not at him. But if she wasn't angry she knew she would collapse in fear and sorrow. "Perhaps I'm simply smarter than you. I have given you the pieces of the puzzle as far as I know them. I've merely had a few more hours to consider them than you have. Think, Harry!" She stepped towards him this time, actually forcing him to step backwards. "Why would he hide your face from _everyone_?"

When he remained silent she shook her head. "What does he fear most, Harry?"

Again he remained silent.

"It's not Dumbledore, no matter what anyone says."

Still he merely stared at her.

"If the articles are true, if you didn't run away but were taken, if you had a normal, loving family out there, one that spent fourteen years mourning for you…"

"That's a lie!"

With a flick of her wand the image of James and Lily mourning their kidnapped son reappeared.

"If you had that waiting for you, if you chose to go back—"

"I will _never_ go back to those twisted—"

"If you did! If you did go back, then what? The Dark Lord loses his most powerful weapon, and possibly, taken to the logical extreme, he gains an enemy. And enemy he created and honed himself."

"I will never betray my father!" Harry shouted in her face. "It's you who are the traitor! I can't believe I'm hearing this from a Slytherin! We're done here!"

He grabbed the mask, glaring at the image of James and Lily and spun to leave. She planted herself in front of him.

"Think, Harry! If it were true, how would it happen?"

"What? Why should I even listen to you?! I've had enough of this!"

"How would it happen?!" She yelled back. "If everything you think you know is a lie, how would you ever find out? How?"

"I don't—"

She cut him off, placing both hands on his face. "This, Harry! This face. This beautiful face!" He stilled, but remained taught as a wire. "Anyone who knows James will know you in an instant. Friend or foe, it doesn't matter, if anyone recognizes you the rumors will start. He nearly killed himself trying to find you the first time." There was no need to explain who 'he' was. "If he thinks you _might_ be alive, he will never stop until he has you back again. When he finds out about… about _this_ ," she gestured to the mask in Harry's hand, "it will break him all over again. Seeing that look on your face… but even then, he will never stop until you know the truth. The Dark Lord…I cannot pretend to know his mind, but I know what makes sense. You loathe James Potter. Every time you see yourself in the mirror you are reminded what he saved you from. What you _think_ he saved you from. It binds you to him, and he can't risk losing you."

Harry was panting. "You must be insane. That or you're working for Dumbledore and his idiotic _Order!_ Who's side are you on?!" He drew his wand and thrust it in her face. "Who are you?! Where did you get these lies? If this is some scheme to turn me against my father know that I will never raise a wand against him!"

Astoria laughed bitterly. She was close enough to lay a hand on his wand. "Oh, Harry! I couldn't be more open with you if I opened my veins! This war will tear us apart, _all_ of us. It doesn't matter who is on what _side_. If I am on a side at all it is _your_ side. I respect the Dark Lord, and fear him, as he wants us all to. I respect Dumbledore, too. I wish the entire war wasn't happening. But all I care about is the truth, Harry, and that you find it. I have no vendetta against the Dark Lord, and I plan to never tell Dumbledore about my gift. My fate is in your hands, Harry. It has been for a long time. Draco's fate is in your hands. If you don't know _everything_ , we will both die."

She stepped back out of the way.

"You must find the truth, Harry. The room and the rat." As he stepped past she grabbed his hand. "Be careful, for Draco's sake if not for your own. He will kill me if you get yourself hurt from what I've said."

He stepped away as she dropped his hand. At the window he turned back. "Nothing could hurt me as much as you have."

Then he was gone.

* * *

 **A/N: There will probably be just one more chapter to this-it might break into two, we'll see. I am NOT re-writing all of Kurionne's fabulous work! This is a short diversion from my own fanfic, For the Love of Sirius (please read!). Not sure when the next/last chapter will be up. Keep your eyes peeled!**


	4. Make It Real

**A/N: This story is an alternate relationship fic based on _the_ _Darkness Within_ by Kurionne. If you haven't read that one, this won't make much sense.**

 **WARNING: This story contains slash.**

* * *

Draco woke with a start as the casement banged open. He bolted upright just in time to see a dark shape streak through the open window. Wind and snow swirled into the room and all about the walls, whipping drapes and bed curtains into a frenzy.

Leaping out of bed Draco held his wand steady, prepared to cast a number of nasty spells Harry had taught him. The shadow that had flown through the window straightened in the middle of the room, barely visible in the dark. Draco wasn't sure the intruder had tracked him, so he remained as still as possible, waiting for him to make the first move.

For several long moments the intruder merely stood in the swirling wind, and Draco fought the sensation that he was looking straight at him. Suddenly the casement banged shut, causing Draco to jump—just a little—and nearly send off a volley of spells.

With the window closed there was almost no light in the room and Draco was suddenly unsure exactly where the intruder was. It was unsettling.

There! He could hear breathing, heavy. A thud: something hard hit the floor…muffled footsteps over carpet then a soft floppy sort of sound. Had…had the intruder just sat down in his armchair? What in the name of Merlin…?

Straightening from his defensive posture Draco whispered, "Harry?"

His only answer was sound between a grunt and a sigh. Yup. Definitely Harry. And in a _mood_.

With an exasperated sigh, Draco waved the lamps alight. Sure enough, the prince's lanky frame was draped over one of the chairs before the cold fireplace. Harry's Firebolt lay discarded in the middle of the floor.

Draco walked over to the facing chair. As he sat he waved his wand at the fireplace and a lively blaze leapt up, ignoring the complete lack of anything to burn. Draco could now see that Harry was not actually 'in a mood.' He was completely torn up! His expression flickered between agony, fury, and loss repeatedly and in rapid succession. One leg twitched sporadically as the hand on that knee, tightly fisted, alternately tapped and shook. In the other hand he held the silver mask, gripping it tightly in his fingers, yet running the thumb across the scroll work over and over and over again. He watched Draco sit as if he were a viper.

"Harry?" Draco said with concern. "What's happened?"

Harry looked away sharply, eyes roving around the room. His mouth twisted several times before he spoke. "Did you know?" he finally said, voice dripping with venom.

Draco blinked. "Know what? Merlin, Harry, what's happ—"

"Did. You! KNOW!" Harry roared, leaning forward suddenly, nearly leaping out of his chair. "Were you in on it _, Malfoy_? Did you plan this little scheme together? Were you keeping him from me _all this time?_ How long?!"

"Know _what?_ " Draco insisted. "What are you talking about? I don't know what's happ—"

"DON'T LIE TO ME!"

"I'M NOT LYING!" Draco yelled back in his face. Draco stood up sharply, glaring at his boyfriend. He snapped his wand at the door without looking. "What the fuck, _Potter?_ Tell me what the hell is going on or get the hell out of my room!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "What did you just do?" he said in a low and dangerous voice.

"Do not disturb charm, O, all knowing one," Draco said sarcastically. "A house elf could pop in here any moment with you yelling at me like a rabid hippogriff. Whatever the hell has gotten into you, I doubt you want the elves, and therefore my father and yours knowing about it." He turned and stalked to a hidden cupboard, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey and two cut glass tumblers. Pouring Harry a generous portion he floated the glass over. "Now, are you going to tell me what it is I'm supposed to have known or are you going to keep screaming until you give yourself an aneurism?"

Harry glared at him, but he looked slightly—very, _very_ slightly—abashed. He swiped the glass out of the air and took an outrageously large gulp, promptly gagging on it. Draco felt a tiny twinge of satisfaction. His satisfaction died a fast and furious death as he suddenly realized that Harry was _crying_. At least, he had been crying at some point very recently. There were wet streams down both cheeks.

"Harry…" Draco said more softly. The prince again looked away, looking for answers in the fire. Draco sighed, retaking his seat and sipping his own glass. "Okay, I'll start; who am I supposedly scheming with?"

Harry's grip on both the whiskey glass and the mask tightened. He snarled. "Her. _"_

"Could you be more specific? That's half the human population."

"Your girlfriend!" Harry said hotly.

"Astoria?" Draco dropped his jaw in disbelief.

Harry merely nodded.

Draco blinked. "Okay…what are we scheming about? You know absolutely everything I know about her. I've told you every word of every conversation of consequence we've ever had. You were here yesterday when I made her the offer! That's the only 'scheme' I have going with Astoria."

Harry threw the whiskey glass into the fire where it exploded marvelously! He stood and started pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace.

Draco shied back. "Whoa! Harry! What in Merlin—"

"Did you know she's a Seer?"

Draco blinked. "A—a Seer? Are you serious? Okay, obviously you're serious. Harry, she's never taken Divination, so I don't know how she could—"

"It's true. By all the gods, I wish it weren't. I'd break my wands to make it a lie, but I don't see how it can possibly…" Harry was half muttering to himself and his breath was getting shaky. "You didn't know she's a Seer?"

Draco shook his head. "No. I had no idea. I'm still not—," he broke off at Harry's look. "Okay, alright. If you say so, then she is." He studied his boyfriend for a moment. "How do you know this? You've barely spoken to her for half an hour."

Harry turned to the fire, expression tightening dangerously. "We just had a most…enlightening conversation."

Draco glanced at the window and the dark gloom outside, though dawn wouldn't be too far off now. "In the middle of the night?" he asked tightly. "Should I be jealous?" For some reason the thought of Harry meeting Astoria in the middle of the night made his vision turn green. He wasn't sure which of them he was jealous of.

Harry huffed and gave him a look, shaking his head only slightly. "I had to know," was all he said.

"Know what? Gods, Harry! Could you be any more cryptic? What were you doing talking to Astoria at midnight?" Draco crossed his arms angrily.

"You're in a prickly mood," Harry sneered.

"Gee, I can't imagine why? Maybe it's because my boyfriend broke into my house in the middle of the night, accusing me of doing _something_ behind his back after I've put my neck literally on the block for him multiple times, and then he admits to a midnight tryst with my girlfriend!"

For some reason Harry smiled, wickedly. "You do get around."

"Well, I'm glad you find it amusing, _your highness._ Now will you kindly tell me _What. The. Hell._ Is going on? Otherwise, I could really use a few more hours sleep."

Harry turned back to the fire, falling back into the conflicted state he'd been in at the start. "There's a boy at Hogwarts…"

Draco stiffened.

"Gryffindor, I think. Third year, maybe. Named Damien…" the green eyes cut up from the fire.

Draco relaxed slightly. It was very unlikely Harry's brother would be competition. "Yes. And?"

"Damien _Potter?"_ Harry growled.

"Yes. I repeat, and?" Draco repeated, confused.

Harry swelled like an angry balloon. "And you never thought to tell me _I have a brother?!_ How long have you known? How long have you been hiding him from me?"

"What?!" Draco asked incredulous. "Hiding him? Why on earth would I hide him? I've hardly spoken to the brat! He's in Gryffindor! _And_ three years behind. What on earth wouldI say, beyond the usual 'Die, Gryffindor scum!'?" Something Harry had just said finally sunk in. "Wait, wait, wait, hold on a second—What do you mean 'tell you you have a brother?' Ah—," he paused, blinking rapidly, because it was just too ridiculous for words! "Are you seriously saying you—you don't—didn't—"

"Didn't know that I have a brother? Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying." Harry hissed through clenched teeth. "How would I know? How could I _possibly_ know, Draco? I ran away when I was _four!_ "

"I know that," Draco held up a placating hand, running the other over his head, thinking furiously. "How could you possibly not know? Don't answer that. Hold on, let me think." He screwed his eyes shut, putting pieces together. Despite the grandeur of his surroundings, Harry grew up in isolation. Draco was his only contact with the outside world; Draco and Lucius and Bella, who were the Dark Lord's most ardent supporters. If they didn't tell Harry about Damien it would have been on the Dark Lord's orders…Slowly Draco's eyes opened. He felt them go wide as he considered the implications—stacks of implications, layers upon layers… "Ooookay," he said slowly. "So, the Dark Lord obviously never told you _they_ had another kid, and probably told Father and Bella not to tell you either. Maybe he just didn't want to upset you?"

"Hiding the truth is supposed to not upset me?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"What?"

"Well, that is the logic Father used when I first—well…" he trailed off, suddenly putting together another piece of the puzzle.

"What?!" Harry demanded.

Draco sighed, closing his eyes. "Okay. So, my first letter home in third year I mentioned there was a new firstie named Potter, and didn't he look marvelously like Harry, and I was sure you'd have all sorts of ideas to make his life hell at school as payback to his…I mean, your…you know, _them._ I got a letter that same night from Father going on most emphatically about not mentioning him at all in case it upset you, and how angry the Dark Lord would be over you being upset."

"So you hid it from me? You all hid it from me! Merlin's balls, she was right," Harry spun away and pounded a fist into the mantle.

Draco stood up. "Harry, I didn't _hide_ it from you! I thought you _knew!_ I thought you didn't talk about it because you didn't _want_ to talk about it."

"So you were just playing the good little subject," Harry sneered.

Draco recoiled, glaring. "No, _Harry_. I was trying to be a good friend. And respect my Father's advice. Gods, I was thirteen! How on earth was I supposed to know he—" Draco suddenly stopped.

Harry turned to him sharply. "He what?"

"That he was using me to keep you in the dark," Draco finished quietly. "I'm sorry, Harry. I had no idea."

Harry stood for a long time, leaning against the mantle, staring into the fire.

"How is he?" he said at last.

"Damien?" Draco guessed.

Harry nodded. "He's third year, so…thirteen? Astoria says he's 'sweet,' 'kind.'" Harry looked up, meeting Draco's eyes with a deep, meaningful look. "Does he ever come back injured after holiday? Bruises, welts, broken bones?"

Draco frowned. "I—I'm not sure. I never really pay attention to him, aside from Quidditch. He's a wicked Chaser, I can tell you that. He'll take any kind of hit to make a goal, too. I guess…" he tried to remember every time he'd ever noticed the kid. "Well, he does wind up at the hospital wing a lot, I guess, but it's always during term."

Harry nodded. "And, have you… have you ever noticed…at King's Cross…"

Draco blinked, trying to keep up. "You mean, when _they_ show up?"

Harry nodded, blinking oddly. It was a moment before Draco realized he was trying not to cry. Harry? Crying?

Draco sighed, running his hands over his face and through his hair. "I don't know, Harry. As I said, I don't really pay attention to him. But…I _think_ I saw them last year, sometime. Christmas? Maybe? They were all smiles. She hugged him, I think. He messed up the kid's hair pretty bad, but they were laughing, you know? It was…kind of normal, I guess? I only remember because I know what you went through. The sham was sickening."

"Normal," Harry echoed. He pounded his fist on the wall and spun away. "Normal!"

Draco flinched. "Harry…"

Harry spun back. "Don't you see? Don't you get it?!"

"Yes, Harry. I get it," Draco said quickly. "They replaced you! I know it hurts. Merlin's balls, Harry, I…I…" Harry's head swung back and forth, his shoulders shaking with silent mirth. "Harry?" Draco said with concern.

Harry threw his head back and laughed. "You really don't get it. You really, really don't. Draco! I ran away when I was _four._ " He looked at Draco with bright, intense eyes, willing him to follow. Draco was completely at a loss!

"Yes," he said carefully, "I know that. Soooo?"

"So! This kid, Damien, he's three years younger, just three. And I never knew about him. _I never knew!_ "

Draco blinked rapidly, trying to work out what Harry was driving at. "Yeeeees. I know that. But what does that—"

"Oh, gods, _think_ , Draco! I would have been three when he was born. I would have spent a year with him before I ran away! The Lily I grew up with, the one who left me to be tortured by _them_? _She_ was never pregnant. Never. I was old enough to have noticed."

Draco frowned. "Wait. 'The Lily you grew up with?' Are you implying there's more than one?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know; I don't know what's true anymore. But I know that from what I remember, _they_ didn't have the kind of relationship that produces more kids. If they had, it would have been one more thing to rub in my face; one more way to torture me. There's no way a kid growing up with them is 'normal.'"

Harry held up the silver mask. "What is this, Draco? Why does he insist I wear it?"

Draco stared at him blankly. "It's your mask, Harry. It's to protect your identity—"

"So he says. So I said! But why? How? Why not just give me a new face, a new name! You know he's powerful enough. So, why not?" Harry started pacing again. "Why force me to keep _his_ face, _his_ name, and then hide it?"

As he walked past, Harry sent Draco an uncomfortable look. "Sheasked me that, tonight. I said just what you did. But she's right! Gods above, she's right! Nothing else makes sense."

Draco shifted, uncomfortable. "We're talking about Astoria now? Okay. What did she say about it?"

Harry held it up so the fire light flickered as he turned it back and forth. "She claims it's a blindfold. That somehow forcing me to keep this face reminds me what he saved me from: keeps me loyal, blinded by hatred or something. But…" Harry looked up at the wall, staring into space. "Draco, you've seen him. How strong is the resemblance, really? If anyone knows…knows _Potter_ ," he couldn't quite keep a sneer from his voice, but he was close, "would they really know I'm his son?"

Draco coughed into his fist, turning away. He thought over the handful of times he'd seen James Potter, always from a distance.

"Draco?" Harry insisted.

Draco looked back at him. "I don't like where this is going, Harry."

"You think I do? Answer the question."

Draco sighed. "Yes, Harry. Drop twenty years, add a bit of muscle, and James Potter would be you down to the last freckle. Well, except…" He smiled before he could catch himself.

"Except what?" Harry said tightly. "What?"

Draco coughed. "Except the eyes. You… you have your mother's eyes: exactly her eyes. I try not to mention it, for the obvious reasons, but…she's our Potions professor. She's rather brilliant, actually, if you can get past the whole bitchy Gryffindor thing. And well," he coughed again. "Let's just say I'm sometimes distracted in the lab. I mean, not that I fancy her or anything, just…just that she has your eyes—or, well, you have hers—anyway it's bloody distracting!"

Draco shook himself. "Sorry. I, uh…"

Harry was smirking at him. "You have nice eyes, too, you know. The blond lashes are very fetching."

Draco rolled the eyes in question. "I'm glad you approve. Back to the matter at hand. This is all getting really weird. Do you have a theory about all this, or are we philosophizing in circles?"

Harry went completely still, staring into the fire. He held the mask in both hands now. "I don't know yet. But everything only fits together one way. Somehow what I remember of my parents is a lie. There's no way Father didn't know. He had to have known. Which means—" Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "He used those memories, Draco. He used them to mold me, build me to be his perfect weapon. And I let him, I was so pathetically grateful to be free of them. I gave everything to please him and to be strong so that I'd never live through that again. But if he knew it was a lie that means he used me. It means he was behind it all."

A chill settled over Draco. "Harry, this… this could be _treason_ ," he whispered.

Harry merely nodded. The green eyes climbed slowly to lock with Draco's. "Yes. But I have to know."

Draco nodded. "What do we do?"

Shaking himself, Harry stepped away from the fire and picked up his broom. "You are doing nothing, except making sure you keep Astoria under wraps. Go ahead with the offer if you want. Just don't let her talk to anyone about this. And obviously, don't tell anyone I was here tonight."

"Obviously. What are _you_ going to do?" Draco said nervously, stepping closer. Harry was looking down at the broom, lost in thought.

"I need to find the truth. Do you know where they live?"

Draco blinked. "They? Oh, you mean… _they._ Not really…"

"Don't worry. I'll find it." Harry stepped towards the window purposefully. Draco cut him off.

"Oh, no. You are not leaving just yet. Not like that."

Harry stopped, looking at the hand gripping his arm with some surprise.

Draco stepped in closer. "Harry. This is serious, deadly serious. This goes against everything I was ever taught about you, about the Dark Lord, about being a good little Death Eater."

Harry stiffened, causing Draco to smirk at him.

"Oh, I chucked most of that out the window the first time I beat you at chess. But, Harry, you've never played a game like this before, not against your father. If you're right, if you decide to, I don't know, leave him or something, he—he might decide to kill you rather than let that happen."

"He won't." Harry moved to push past him, but Draco stepped in counter.

"Or obliviate you."

Harry froze, staring at Draco. "He wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't he? If you're right, _if_ , then he has to have a reason! He has to want you with him _really_ badly. So badly he went through all this work, all these years of lying to you…What if he tries it?"

Harry's jaw tightened. "Thank you. I'll be ready for that." Again he moved to step past, but Draco put a hand on his chest. "What now?"

Draco smirked at him. "Seriously, Harry? You're about to go on the warpath against the most powerful wizard of our age who may or may not have been manipulating him for twelve years, or possibly longer. What do you expect me to do? God, I feel like some bird in a soap opera needs to sigh in exasperation and cry 'men!' Pay attention." He cleared his throat. "First, as I said, opposing your father like this goes against everything I was ever taught—"

"So you said—"

"BUT—," Draco cut over him, "but, I am with you. Whatever you find out, whatever you chose to do, I am with you on this."

Harry actually settled back on his heels. He blinked rapidly. "I…thank you."

Draco cleared his throat again, tipping his chin back defiantly. "And if you think you are getting out of this room without kissing me after all that, after giving me a heart attack breaking open my windows, you are sadly mistaken."

* * *

"Astoria, darling, are you alright? You've hardly touched your breakfast."

Astoria looked up into her mother's concerned face. "I didn't sleep well, that's all."

"That's all? Well, if you're sure." Her mother looked hardly convinced, but she turned back to her toast.

"I'm sure."

"Sure of what?" Daphne asked, flouncing in. "Is Draco going to fall madly in love with you?"

Astoria flushed. "Maybe. What's it to you?"

Daphne slid into the chair across from Astoria, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Nothing. Nothing at all! Just fiendishly curious what he sees in my serious little sister. Honestly! You're both so proper, almost dour! You'd do well together."

Their mother frowned. "Daphne, you shouldn't tease her, especially not if she has managed to attract the interest of the Malfoy heir. It's a remarkable achievement."

"Don't worry, Mother," Daphne said, leaning over improperly far for the stack of toast and the jar of jam. Somehow she still managed to look graceful doing it! Damn her. "Astoria knows I support her wholeheartedly."

"Well," Astoria said grimly. "Perhaps not _whole_ heartedly, but it'll do."

Their house elf appeared with a pop! "Muffy is begging pardon, mistress." The elf bowed low to Mother. "There is a young man at the front door who is asking after Miss Astoria. He is claiming to be Master Draco Lucius Malfoy!" The elf finished with a squeak.

Both heads whipped around to stare wide eyed at Astoria.

"What?" Mother said.

"Blimey," said Daphne, "When you said yesterday 'went well' I didn't know you meant _well."_

"Oh, shut up," Astoria snapped, standing. "Mother, may I invite him it? It's freezing outside. We can't very well have the Malfoy heir catching pneumonia on our doorstep."

"Oh, right, yes, well, in that case…" Mother rambled.

Astoria turned to Muffy. "Please show him into the drawing room, and fetch him anything he requires. I'm going upstairs to get dressed. Please tell him I'll be down in ten minutes."

Her mother and Daphne were practically on her heels both on the way up and on the way down the stairs. They would have sat outside the drawing room to eavesdrop, no doubt, but no sooner had she made introductions then Draco asked, very politely, to take her on a walk through _Kensington Gardens!_

"I promise, I can Apparate her safely," he said to Mother. "Father pulled some strings to get me my license early."

Well, who could object to that? Off they went.

"I thought the gardens were closed for the holidays?" Astoria asked as they navigated the carefully manicured paths. Though the garden was dormant and covered in hoarfrost it had a distinct charm. The light snowfall made it almost romantic.

"They are," said Draco. Somehow he had both relaxed since leaving her house, and gotten more tense, "and so we won't be disturbed."

"I see," Astoria said carefully.

Draco looked at her sideways. "I'm not going to assault you, Astoria."

She sniffed. "I never thought such a thing."

"Hmm. Well, I don't plan on it anyway. Though I do have some questions and if you lie to me I'm not entirely sure how I will respond."

She stopped. He took another step, letting his arm drop from under her hand, and turning to face her. His face was so stern! Like a frozen mask. "I see," she said softly. "Harry came to you then?"

He nodded. She let out a long breath. "Good. I hoped he would. I know he would never—well, never mind. I won't ask, but I hope things went well, in the end at least." She gave a small smile and turned to a nearby bench.

Draco stalked after her. "That's it. That's all you have to say?" He stopped, standing before her, looming over her actually, as she sat. His fists were clenched at his side. "You broke him!"

"No, Draco," she answered, focusing her breath to remain calm. Draco was standing so close! All his nervousness from the day before was gone entirely. Now he was all tight control, though she could tell he had fury on a short leash. "The truth _nearly_ broke him, but I think he will come through it. This will be his greatest test. Not the battle to come—that, he is more than capable of facing. But the heartache, that will be his test. And I will not lie to you, or dissemble; it will be very, _very_ painful for him, and so also for you. For all of us."

He looked down at her, clearly torn.

"Oh, will you just sit down, Draco? This will be a long conversation and I will _not_ have it craning my neck up at you."

Suddenly discomfited Draco stepped aside and sat next to her. "That is not the answer I expected."

Astoria snorted softly. "It never happens that way. People always come expecting a certain answer and have their reactions all planned out. Harry wanted to find out I was some kind of spy. He was ready to kill me on the spot, you know. He was sure I was working for Dumbledore—"

"Are you?"

"No," she said vehemently. "I hate the war, Draco. I wish the Dark Lord had never—well, maybe not that he'd never been born, but that he'd never chosen to be a dark lord. I will never join them. But I am will not be a pawn for Dumbledore either."

Draco nodded, satisfied. "So, what did you say to Harry last night?"

She gave him a look. "You think I can answer that? After the vow I gave you yesterday? Or did you think you were the only one I promise to keep secrets for? Protecting secrets is paramount in my position. Fate has given me access to knowledge I have no right to. I take it as my duty to help where I can, but also to protect that information."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Astoria, you're fourteen years old! This isn't your—your _job_ ," he said the word with distaste. "No one expects you to follow some kind of professional code—"

She lifted her chin. "Age is no excuse. I know my place in the world, Draco Malfoy. I am not an aristocrat like yourself. Someday I may have to earn my bread and board, and this is how I shall do it. Anyway, it's not a code. I took a vow to protect the secrets of others."

Draco's jaw dropped. "You did what?"

She merely raised an eye brow.

"Astoria, you can't just go around making vows on your magic all the time! Someday it's going to bite you."

"And why do you care? As far as it affects you, it means I keep your secrets. Your only real objection can be that it prevents me from telling you Harry's secrets too. I would think you would be glad; if I won't reveal them to you, when I obviously know you are on his side, then you can have no doubts I would tell anyone else."

Draco flushed. "Look, it's just not a good idea. Vows like that strain your magic even if you don't break them."

"So I am aware. But Draco, as you are currently witness, this gift puts me in very delicate situations. The vows are my protection from far worse dangers."

He sighed, frustrated. "Fine, have it your way." He turned away angrily for a moment, but quickly turned back. "Why didn't you tell me you were a Seer?"

"It wasn't important—"

"Not important?!"

"—at the time. It wasn't! Draco, until a few days ago, you hardly spoke to me beyond 'pass the butter.' Being a True Seer is not something I'm ready to have commonly known. Think what it would do to me at Hogwarts? Hmm? Every minute I didn't spend chasing away every third year who wants to know if their crush likes them I'll spend fighting off Trelawney—who you know will take it as a direct offense that I've not bothered with her ridiculous class."

"So you were going to just leave me in the dark?" Draco huffed.

"Oh, don't be a child! Of course I would have told you. I don't know when—sometime when it was relevant. But it's not exactly something to bring up over tea with a man I've basically just met, certainly not with the revelations you gave me yesterday." She found herself getting angry and peevish, and so sat back and looked away.

To her surprise Draco didn't respond for some time. When she finally glanced back he was looking at her with a strange expression.

"What?"

"You called me a man."

Astoria flushed. "So?"

Draco cocked his head at her. "So, I'm not of age until next summer, which is common knowledge, and in my circles a boy can't claim that appellation until his father uses it formally— _in public_."

"Well," Astoria shifted. "As I said earlier, I am not _in_ your circles." Now thoroughly flustered, she stood and began stalking away down the path. Draco quickly caught up with her, placing her hand on his arm again.

"You know I don't care about that. Your family is perfectly acceptable even by my parents' standards."

"I know," Astoria said tightly, though she didn't pull her hand away. "All you care about is Harry."

"Stop, stop," Draco did as much, grabbing her hand lightly but enough to stop her next to him. "What is going on, Astoria? There's something you're not telling me."

"Draco, there are lots of things I'm not telling you," she said in exasperation. "I don't tell you the names of my dolls, or that I still play with them on holidays—please forget that."

Draco smiled. "Really? That's actually kind of adorable—Ow! Sorry! It's forgotten. Look, I need to be able to help Harry, so I have to know what he's up against. Please, give me something that can help."

Astoria sighed, closing her eyes. "Oh, Draco. Why must you make this so _difficult?"_

"I'm sorry?" he said tentatively. "Astoria, you just told me Harry is facing the toughest test of his life. What am I supposed to do? Say 'okay, fine' and skip off like it's summer hols? For Pete's sake, you sent him off on a quest for truth that could spark a civil war among the Dark Lord's followers! You think the war is bad now? Wait until Harry picks a side out in the open! The man he loves as a father could end up trying to _kill_ him. We could both wind up dead, all because of what you told him last ni….last…Astoria, are you _crying?_ "

Her eyes snapped open, glaring. She pushed away. "Yes, you idiot. Of course I'm crying! You think I didn't know what I was telling him? That I didn't know how hard it was for him to hear? How unbearably painful? You think it was _easy?_ Do you think I just rattled it off like a weather report or something? You infuriating, presumptuous—"

"Okay, alright! I'm sorry!" Draco stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders.

Astoria sniffed, still glaring. "Well, at least you meant it that time." She shrugged out from his hands and stalked away, though he followed a few steps behind. She walked halfway around the garden, hardly seeing the neat arrangements, before finally settling on another bench. As soon as she sat a warming charm spread across the seat and over her cloak.

Draco didn't sit, but stood at the end of the bench, tapping his wand against his leg.

At length Astoria could stand the silence no longer. "I can't tell you what I told him, Draco, not the details anyway, unless he allows it. But I knew how hard it would be, and also how crucial it would be that he hear the truth. I can tell you this though; he carries the fate of the world. What he does now will not only determine who wins the War, but the scale of it. All I could do was give him the truth and hope he makes the right choice. I don't even know which choice is right; only he knows that. I don't even know what the choices _are,_ but I pray to Merlin he picks the right one." She looked up, catching Draco's eyes. "I know if he chooses wrongly then yes, you will both die, and it will be just the beginning."

"You sound quite attached to him for someone you just met." Draco's voice was unnaturally flat.

Astoria huffed. "I just told you he carries the fate of the world and that if he fails we die. I'm rather attached to my life."

"I don't think it's just that."

Astoria shrugged. "Think what you will."

Draco sighed and sat next to her. "Astoria, Harry told me that our offer—our request—is still open, despite last night. I think…well, given how much you know…" he sighed and raked his hands through his pale hair. "Astoria, if you don't agree—"

"You want to be sure of me, and the only way you see to do that is to keep me close."

He blinked at her. "Well, yes.

She twisted to face him fully. "Draco, I want to make some things perfectly— _perfectly—_ clear. No matter our relationship, I will never betray your confidence, or Harry's. You would both always be welcome to find me and ask anything and I will tell you anything I can. I will help you in any way I can. These are entirely independent of any relationship we do or do not have. We haven't known each other long or well, but I don't like bullies. From my view, both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore could fit that category. I will always help you, both of you. You don't need to tie yourself to me to be sure of my help. "

Draco's eyes narrowed. "That's very noble and self-sacrificing of you. This can't be just house loyalty."

Astoria tried hard not to blush and was not at all certain she succeeded. "Perhaps not. But…as to your offer…" She looked away.

"Yes?"

"I will not be your _fake_ girlfriend," she barked. She looked back, mustering all the confidence she could. "I am willing to help you, and to help Harry. I'm even willing to let you and Harry…carry on. But if we are going to be together, Draco Malfoy, it must be real. You must make it real."

Draco leaned back. Astoria followed, leaning forward.

"If you kiss me, then do it because you want to kiss me. Don't let it be just an act. Never an act! If you buy me a gift, make it one you want me to have from your hands alone. If you want to take me to Hogsmeade, fine, but let it be because you want _me_ there, by your side, as your girlfriend, not as a front, not as a potential enemy to keep tabs on."

Draco opened his mouth hesitantly and Astoria cut him off with a raised hand.

"I'm not saying you have to be in love with me, not right away certainly. Merlin knows, few couples start out that way. But if this is going to work for either of us, it _cannot_ be an act."

Astoria leaned back again, giving Draco room to think. He looked away, flushed.

"I…I don't know," he said. "Astoria, I _love_ Harry. He agreed to have someone act the part—"

"Then let him agree to this as well. I am willing to share you with him. If he wants me to be your shield he can share you as well."

Draco's jaw hit the floor. "You can just…say it? Just like that?"

Astoria flushed, chuckling slightly. "Not really. I actually can't believe I got it out. Anyway, I think he might be more amenable than you think."

Draco's eyes narrowed again. "Wait…why would you think that? You barely know him. Do you have any idea how jealous he is?"

Astoria brushed at her skirt. "As a matter of fact I happen to know Harry very, very well. I can't give details, but, well, he's…he's a very powerful individual. Of course you know that! But sometimes powerful people pull at a Seer's sight. I only just yesterday was able to put all the pieces together, but I know quite a lot about your Harry."

Draco shifted but nodded. "And what makes you think he'll be okay…sharing?"

Marveling at her own audacity, Astoria reached out and put her hand over Draco's. "Because, darling, one day you will marry me. That is written in the stars, and there is nothing you nor I nor Harry can do about it. But I will only have it on these terms. Make it real, Draco. Make me fall in love with you and let yourself fall in love with me. I won't shut Harry out, because you need him, the whole world needs him, and he needs you. But it must be real."

With a final squeeze, she let go of his hand and walked away.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, despite my plans to drop this fic shortly after exploring the Harry/Draco relationship, this fic has developed a life of it's own. I am still not making any promises about how long or involved this will get, but...we'll see. Reviews will help immensely! Feed the Muse!**


	5. A Stuffed Dog

**A/N: This story is an alternate relationship fic based on _the_ _Darkness Within_ by Kurionne. If you haven't read that one, this won't make much sense.**

 **WARNING: This story contains slash.**

* * *

Harry focused on staying perfectly still. Doing so required him to ignore the persistent drizzle chilling him to the bones and the rough bark under his hands. He had to shift his stance from time to time as the soft ground compacted under his feet. He'd been standing here in the woods for hours now watching the cottage, waiting for its occupants to leave. Just looking at the building had triggered the memories, nightmares, of his childhood. If he hadn't put them into the pensieve he knew he wouldn't be able to finish the task at hand. That or he'd break his vow to Astoria, attack the Potters, and wind up a stinking, pathetic Squib.

In the wee hours he had visited the archives at the Prophet and the Auror Department. He hadn't dared take notes or copies, but he had immediately dumped his memories of the articles in the pensieve he carried hidden as a heavy onyx ring. His sense of derision at the ease of his infiltration, especially of the Auror offices, failed to combat the sinking fear and betray as he uncovered piece after piece of evidence corroborating Astoria's story. If this was a ruse on Astoria's part, it was elaborate indeed.

Now he stood in the woods outside Godric's Hollow. Having stood here so long he had begun to get a strange itch between his shoulders, one that didn't come from the damp shirt clinging to his back or the tree branches swaying in the breeze. The house was…different. Well, not the house, exactly. The woods, that was it! The woods were different. The overall shape of the clearing around the house, the garden, the paths, was the same. He could even pick out the familiar pattern in the bricks of the back patio. But…Surely, that maple at the corner hadn't had such a thick branch so low? That branch had to be as old as the tree, and thrice as old as Harry himself. It couldn't grow another branch in just twelve years. And the curve of the far corner of the lawn was making his eyes cross. Something about it wasn't adding up. He couldn't spare any more thought to these things just now, though. His main focus was on the people _inside_ the cottage.

At first, he thought he'd found proof that it was all a scam.. From so far away he could see little and hear nothing, but he'd watched the boy, Damien, work like a slave: carrying out the garbage, cooking, washing dishes, sweeping and dusting, moving armfuls of stuff all around the house, all under the sharp supervision of Lily Potter. He saw her critical expression and sharp gestures, accompanied by the boy's exasperated expression. For some time he failed to realize that she was doing much the same things herself, carting baskets of laundry around, stirring multiple pots on the stove. Then, suddenly, in the early afternoon, she turned to the boy with a satisfied nod and he had jumped in delight, face broken by a huge smile. She smiled back as he spun and raced upstairs, coming back moments later with a more-than-decent broom.

The two left through the fireplace in a flash of green light. Potter senior had left an hour earlier in company of Sirius Black, both trying to look serious but hiding Quidditch gear under their cloaks. The cottage was deserted.

Harry waited several long moments, then began carefully testing the wards. He'd already probed them a bit, but it never hurt to double check. They were formidable, but even blood wards had one weakness. Harry was blood, after all.

Harry slowly swung onto his broom and rose through the tree branches, watching avidly for any sign of movement. Deciding the coast was clear, he shot towards the house, throwing open an upper story window and landing lightly in the room beyond. He crept quickly back to the window, flattening himself beside it, and scanned the woods he'd just left and what he could see of the neighboring houses. No movement, nothing to indicate his split second flight had been seen. He turned to the room he'd entered.

The room had decent, comfortable furniture but few personal affects. A guest room, then. He didn't have any specific memories of this room, but it was almost certainly maintained for the use of Sirius Black, which was reason enough to dislike it instantly. That man was a monster, just like the others, no matter what the damn newspaper said. He left quickly.

Finding the hidden room took only a moment. A few Revelio charms in the hallway pointed him to a strangely blank panel. At least he didn't have to go into any of the other rooms. If he'd had to go into the attic… He set to work on the patch of wall. After a few moments, he wasn't sure if he should be impressed of disgusted. One the one hand, finding the room did require a specific combination of Revelio charms and taking down the glamor took more than a simple _finite incantatem_ , but not much more. They wanted to room hidden but clearly they were only hiding it from the most casual of snoopers. Did they have no more respect for their secrets than that? Amatuers!

Pausing to listen for any sounds of the Potters' return, Harry slowly swung the hidden door open. The room beyond was more of a closet than a room, though a sizeable closet. It was filled with dusty boxes and some other knickknacks too big to box. Harry quickly attached a mage light to the ceiling,

A lump caught in Harry's throat. _What the buggering hell…?_

The first thing he saw was a wooden rocking horse, antique by the look of it. Against the back wall no less than five brooms, ranging from a toddler's toy broom to a brand new, very recent, top of the line model—every bit as good as the one he'd flown in on. He glanced at the boxes. All were labeled, some in a neat loopy hand, others in a bold scrawl: "1st Christmas," "First Birthday," 2nd Xmas," "4th Birthday." On and on they went. "1st Yr Kit," was particularly hard to read. The rest were labeled by calendar year, starting with 1992.

The layer of dust varied, but one box, near the door, was almost clean and partially open. Not bending over, Harry flicked his wand to open the box fully.

His breathing nearly stopped.

The box was full of a child's toys. Several stuffed animals were crammed to one side. A pile of neatly folded baby clothes filled another corner. There was a rattle, several silver teething rings, and a collection of baby board books. The lack of dust said this box was revisited often, repacked each time with care. On top of the rest sat a stuffed black dog, one eye badly scratched, with matted fur and the stuffing squished badly out of shape.

All at once his heart twisted and his vision blurred. _What the fuck?_ It was just a stupid toy! Why did he feel like he'd been stabbed in the chest? He swept an angry gaze over the rest of the collection in the closet. So they kept a box of Damien's baby toys. So what? More proof of what sick bastards they were! After torturing him to the point of running away to die, they have another kid and spoil him rotten! What did this have to do with…

Glaring back at the box his eye was caught by something glinting in the far corner. One of the teething rings, a small silver bell suspended from a knobby circle. Parts of the bell were spotted with age and tarnish, but the main face was clear as a mirror, rubbed clean by constant fondling. There, clear as day, were the initials "HJP."

Harry tore his gaze away, breathing heavily. His eye fell on the box labeled "1st Yr Kit." With a flick of his wand the box shot from the shelf and joined the other on the floor, snapping open. Inside a shiny new pewter cauldron was filled with a rudimentary potions kit. Next to it a neat stack of first year course books. He could see a very nice quill and ink set, rolls of perfect new parchment, and a stack of something wrapped in tissue paper. Flicking aside the top folds of paper with his wand tip, Harry could clearly see the student's name emblazoned on the inside of a collar. "Harry J Potter."

His vision turned red. This wasn't possible. This was some kind of joke! He tore open the fly leaf of the top book. Neat, loopy writing declared it the property of "H. J. Potter." The facing page stated, "This the 579th Edition, copyright 1991." Three years before Damien would have started school.

Standing slowly, Harry stepped away from the box, from the entire closet. He turned sharply and entered the nearest room, one he remembered from his childhood as a guest room. One look told him it was Damien's room. Everything from the pennants on the walls to the bedspread shouted that this boy was mad about Quidditch. Various gear, including two Quaffles and a Beater's bat that clearly saw little use, were visible amongst the usual detritus of a thirteen year old's living space. But despite the typical clutter, the room as fairly clean. The closet was full of clothes, some patched true, but several in decent condition and two sets of fancy dress robes. All of his school and Quidditch gear was labeled in Lily's neat writing with Damien's name. Though Harry didn't spend long in the room, he found no less than three items obviously repaired expertly by hand: a blanket and a stuffed bear by neat stitches and a stag figurine by glue. Not the work of a child hiding his mistakes, but the work of a loving adult.

Shaking his head, Harry stepped quickly into the master bedroom across the hall. The furniture was dark wood, carved but not overly ornate. The lamps had old fashioned shades with brochade fabric and beaded fringe. The clothes in Lily's drawers and her half of the closet were neat and orderly, while James' things—hard as it was for Harry to look—were haphazard by comparison. In all, the space was…cozy, normal, neat but not fastidious. Lily did have a vanity with a small collection of cosmetics and perfumes, but it was far smaller than what he remembered. The wardrobes of both were likewise much more normal. Even the bedspread and the pillows on the sitting chairs were more homey.

He raced quickly through the rest of the house. It was much as he remembered, but like the rooms upstairs there were subtle changes. Some were easily explained. They'd obviously updated the carpet in the living room and bought a new set of dishes at some point. But in twelve years, that wasn't at all surprising. He also wasn't surprised to see plenty of pictures of Damien in the living room and no pictures of him. Who would display proof of their abuse in the front room of their house?

Nevertheless, there were a number of things that did not add up. On the whole the entire house felt entirely too cheerful and too calm at the same time. These were not high stress people. The desk in James' study was buried in papers piled willy nilly, something the James in his memories would never have stood for. Here and there in the living room were books, magazines, toys, other knickknacks betraying the residence of Damien. Harry's Lily would never have allowed such things to be left around. There was even a basket of half-finished knitting projects! Since when did Lily knit?

It had been nearly twenty minutes by now, perhaps longer. He didn't have much more time. Harry forced himself back upstairs and to the door at the end of the hallway. This one led to the attic. For a long minute Harry stood, merely staring at the door, fighting the large lump in his throat. At last he turned the knob and climbed the stairs. They weren't as rickety as he remembered, though somewhat more cramped.

The room above was gravely disappointing.

Boxes and old furniture filled most of the space. There was no evidence at all of the pathetic cot he had slept in. Not that he really expected to find it. Who would leave that kind of evidence out where others might stumble upon it? What if Damien found it? Wouldn't that be awkward! He smirked at the thought but only briefly. Really, the space was just too packed with…stuff.

He returned to the hidden room. Everything he saw in the house belied his own memories of abuse and torture. He didn't remember the toys in this box. He'd certainly never had them when he was a child! But why would they buy used baby toys and store them for over a decade? He bent over the box again.

Without thinking he picked up the stuffed dog and turned it over in his hands. His eyes blurred again, but something about holding the dog felt…right.

Glancing down in confusion, Harry suddenly noticed a worn and tattered envelope tucked into the corner.

Still holding the dog in his left hand he pulled out the envelope and flicked it open, revealing a stack of moving photographs. Two dozen images, each scrawled on the back in Lily's neat calligraphy, gave testimony to the childhood he had been stolen from. Lily held him before the camera, cradling, cuddling, kissing a squirming toddler. James chased a laughing and squealing Harry around the floor as he flew the very toy broom that sat in the closet. James held a tiny bundle wrapped in cloth, his face beaming with pride. Lily held out a tiny spoon piled with green goo, coaxing a very dubious looking baby to open his mouth. A black haired baby, barely able to sit up and decked out in Quidditch gear that hardly fit screamed bloody murder while his parent's posed for the camera, their cheeks flush with cold. Harry buried his hands in a monstrous cupcake with a '1' perched on top. In the last, Harry, only a few months old, lay sleeping in a lovely cot, clutching a stuffed black dog in a tiny fist.

"Don't worry! I know just where it is! Huh—whoa! Who are you?"

Harry stood and spun. There, at the door to his room, stood Damien Potter. Harry had been so engrossed in the pictures he hadn't heard the Potters return!

"Damien? Who are you talking to?"

The voice of James Potter snapped Harry back into the moment. He was caught in enemy territory. He dropped the toy and the photos, but had only taken a step towards the master bedroom—the nearest exit—when James topped the stairs. James took one step, thrusting Damien into his room as James brought out his wand, but then he stopped short.

"Who are you? How did you get…get...," he trailed off, face going white. His arm lowered and he shook his head. His eye flicked to the room behind Harry. If it were possible his eyes got even wider as they locked back onto Harry's face.

Harry clenched and unclenched his fists, itching to grab his wand, to summon his broom, to attack the man who had caused him so much pain—no! No, clearly, somehow, beyond all reason, that was wrong. His memories had to be wrong. Somehow. It had not been James Potter, at least not this James Potter. Despite every memory, every instinct crying out for justice, for revenge—Harry forced himself to take a deep breath and leave his wand sheathed.

"Harry?" James choked, hollowly. "It's—it's not possible. Harry?" he said louder, taking a step forward.

Instinct took over. Harry snapped his wand out without thinking. "Stay back!" He drew himself up, stepping into the door to the master bedroom.

James lurched to a stop, though it may have been as much from shock as from Harry's warning. "Is it really…how? How is it possible? What—where have you—I don't…"

Harry smirked. "Me either, apparently."

"Dad?" Damien said, peaking around James. "What's going on? Who is this? And—where did that closet come from?"

James swallowed, shushing Damien with a gesture. As Harry stepped further into the master bedroom, James mirrored him, coming closer. "It is Harry, isn't it?" he asked, disbelieving.

"I said to stay back!" Harry commanded. He quickened his steps, but James was already in the doorway.

"James? Damien? What's taking so long?" Lily's voice floated from the hallway.

Harry snapped into action. He turned, taking aim at the window.

"No! Wait!" he heard James yell. A spell shot over Harry's shoulder, clearly not aimed at him, but at the window. James spell locked the casement but Harry merely blasted the window into a shower of glass.

" _Accio, Firebolt!"_ Harry shouted as he leapt through the glittering cloud to the shattered window.

"Harry, no! Please, wait! Where have you—"

Just as Harry reached the sill a hand closed around his arm. Harry jerked his arm out of James' grasp and shoved him powerfully away. James stumbled back, tripping to the floor as Lily entered the room.

"Don't touch me! You never touch me!" he snapped. A gasp brought his eyes snapping up to Lily's—eyes just like his own. She too went deathly pale.

A crash from the neighboring room drew their attention and Harry threw himself out the window and onto the passing Firebolt.

* * *

Slowly James stood, staring at the shattered window. He blinked down at the cuts on his hands, wondering if they were actually real. He was shaking. His ears were ringing and his own heartbeat sounded thunderously loud in his chest.

 _James…_

The sound of his name brought his head around of its own accord, as if he were in a dream. Green eyes stared at him, wide and frightened, as he knew his own were. Eyes he'd just a moment ago seen narrowed in anger. But these eyes had auburn brows.

Lily.

James shook his head and tried to bring his breathing under control. Lily was speaking but he had trouble concentrating on the words.

"Who…who was that? James? Did you…know who that…?"

Again, James shook his head, this time in answer.

Lily stepped closer, she swallowed heavily. "James," she said seriously, seeming to recover somewhat. "Who was that?"

Drawing himself up, James looked again around the room. Suddenly frowning he stepped around his wife to the hallway. Damien stood peering into the Room they had kept hidden for fourteen years.

"Whoa! Look at all this stuff! Where'd this come from? No way! Why do you guys have all these brooms just _sitting here?"_

James walked up beside Damien and looked down at the open boxes on the floor. He took in the tissue paper pulled back from the first year robes, the book open to the fly leaf, the pictures scattered on the floor…Slowly, James reached around Damien and picked up the stuffed dog. Lily stood, frozen, staring at the toy.

"What is all this stuff, dad? Hey, that kid was holding that when I got up here." He pointed to the dog.

"Padfoot?" Lily asked, voice shaking. "He was holding…" she trailed off.

"Yeah," Damien answered, undeterred. "and these photos." He bent over, riffling through the photos. "Who is this kid? Wow, Dad! He looks…he looks _just like you…"_ Damien's voice lost all of its excitement and he grew very still.

"James," Lily said sternly. "Answer me. That—person who just left, who broke two of my windows: was that… _Harry_?"

James looked from his wife down to his son's unusually serious face. Damien was frowning at him in suspicion. "Who is _Harry_?"


End file.
